Though We Had All of Time
by tklivory
Summary: While on a diplomatic mission to the heart of the Romulan Empire, the USS Enterprise-E suddenly finds its mission and its crew in peril when a longstanding feud within the Q Continuum threatens to dissolve the Alliance.
1. Prelude

This is not your typical Star Trek story. This story concerns the infinite as much as the finite, the irrational as much as the rational, and explores the nature of what and why we are.

It also happens to star Picard, Data, and Q (among others).

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_Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last._

- Abraham Cowley, _Davideis  
><em>

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><p><em>They stand on the edge of forever, looking into the future and the past, remembering them as one.<em>

_One is a woman, attired in starlight and death's shadow. The other is a man, robed in scarlet and the blood of lives long past._

_The wind that cannot exist save at the edge of forever swirls around them, smoothing rough emotions and harsh words. At the end of the mobius strip they stand side by side._

_Finally the man (at least, that's how he thinks of himself) reaches out and takes her hand. The woman (an equally useless phrase to describe her, though she is more of flesh and blood than he) resists at first, then allows the contact._

_Time that no longer possesses any meaning holds them motionless for more moments._

_Finally, though there has been no waiting, the man speaks. "Shall we meet again?"_

_The woman turns and studies him. Not his exterior appearance – tall, lean, dark-haired and possessed of a face that shows a past collusion with arrogance – but his eyes, in which she can see all the regrets, pain, and fury that what has happened must be so again. Smiling slightly, she indicates the stars that are beginning their ending (and ending their beginning) and murmurs, "Was there ever a doubt?"_

_His eyes flash in long dormant anger, then soften as she brings her other hand to brush his cheek. He releases his grip to place it on that hand, breathing in her aura and beauty. "Must it be as it was?"_

_Her eyes, glorious in the illumination that exists before photons, sadden. "Would love have come any other way?" His silence answers. She sighs, unaccustomed to the weight of emotions. As she glances away, she feels his arms rise to take her into his embrace._

"_We could change everything, you and I," he suggests, hope flickering deep in his eyes. "We could…"_

"_No." Her command stills him. "We shall love, and begin again."_

_Time rushes to meet them, carrying upon it a desire for revenge at their daring to avoid it for so long. Needing no words, their lips and minds meet, and love binds their beings together for one endless moment._

_Then time, proud from the first, conquers._


	2. Chapter 1

Silence held the auditorium within its grip. The members of the audience willingly acquiesced to its tyrannical demands, locking their gazes upon the figure in the middle of the stage. A subtle mood of expectation and barely contained excitement permeated the hall as everyone held their breath in anticipation of the performer's next move. A smothered gasp of delight emerged, quickly suppressed, as he raised an arm, gently lowered the bow to the waiting strings, and delicately resuscitated the work of a composer long dead.

He swayed back and forth slightly as he breathed life into the music, drawing from his violin sounds that could only be summoned forth by a virtuoso of the art. Many lifetimes of dedication and skill demonstrated themselves in the caressing flow of his fingers as he channeled the melody. The smooth fluidity of the bow continuously propelled the listeners through a feverish progression of transcendent beauty.

The music sang throughout the concert hall, ringing in the farthest balconies. As it swept through the air, all within hearing allowed themselves to be drawn into the glistening web of effervescent sound that seemed to—

A harsh, discordant beep hooked its barbs into the beauty, dissolving it into chaos. The performer ceased the movement of the bow with inhuman precision as a voice briskly commanded, "Data, report to the bridge immediately."

Straightening to attention, the android replied, "Acknowledged, Commander." Quickly kneeling to the ground, he added curtly, "Computer, end program."

The hall, and the masses within it, disappeared in mid-sigh.

Data placed his violin in its case and snapped it shut. After a quick equipment check, he nodded slightly to himself and strode from the holodeck.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

"Captain's Log, stardate 51192.9. The _Enterprise _has arrived as directed at a classified Starfleet installation near the Typhon Expanse. After an initial meeting with Admiral Baygard aboard the Station regarding our next mission, I have called a meeting with my senior officers to conduct a briefing of the situation."

Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat at the head of the table in the conference room, neglecting the slowly cooling tea on the table before him. The source of his preoccupation could be discerned in the fixed way he stared through the window at the station beyond, a hulking metallic intrusion against the starscape. His fingers absentmindedly tapped a staccato beat on the slick surface in tight counterpoint to the thoughts racing behind an intense gaze while his keenly honed intellect pondered the quandary placed before him.

The door hissed open, a harsh dissonance against the blanket of silence that had enveloped the room. Picard blinked himself from his reverie and swiveled to find Deanna Troi circumspectly scrutinizing him. Inclining his head, he smiled lightly. "Greetings, Counselor. You're early."

She didn't reply immediately, allowing Picard a moment to collect his thoughts. The slight crease between her eyebrows, however, indicated concern. "How are you feeling?" she inquired solicitously.

"I'm in perfect health, Deanna," Picard responded in a distracted tone of voice.

The doubt failed to leave her luminous features. "You seem preoccupied," she stated quietly as she claimed the chair adjacent to his own. "I have sensed your unease since your return from the station this morning."

"Indeed?" he murmured as he idly picked up his tea and sipped delicately. He held the tepid liquid in his mouth momentarily before retrieving the saucer and moving to the replicator to replace it. "My meeting with Admiral Baygard was quite…unsettling." Briskly he addressed the replicator, "Tea, Earl Grey, hot."

Troi waited patiently for an elaboration as Picard took his refreshment to his seat. When no explanation seemed forthcoming, she shifted in her chair and followed his gaze to the station. "That place disturbs you," she stated quietly.

Picard nodded, face void of emotion despite his knowledge that Troi would sense the roiling turmoil beneath the calm façade. "This particular station is reserved for those exceptional prisoners considered too politically inconvenient to become common knowledge. The only people who know about it are those inside of it, or those with a mission directly involved with it."

"I know you were concerned when the orders stipulated no families of crew members would be allowed on this mission," she probed gently.

"Concern hardly seems an adequate description," he responded, meeting her gaze squarely for the first time. "It also distressed me that I had never previously heard of this station. And now that I have learned of the full nature of the mission…" He sighed and fell again into brooding silence.

"Yes?" Troi inquired.

The door chose that moment to swish open, allowing entrance to those beyond. As the remainder of his senior officers filed into the room, exchanging pleasantries and quiet quips, Picard found himself scrutinizing each one anew. Before this mission had been brought to his attention, he would have easily stated he would trust this crew with his life. But now he found himself wondering afresh about them.

He mentally shook himself as they took their seats. They had carried themselves and the ship intact through many dangers, including a first encounter with the Borg, strange temporal fluctuations, plagues, supernatural visitors, betrayal, dangerous tasks of subterfuge, addictive entertainment…even that omnipotent annoyance, Q. Inwardly chastising himself for his doubt, however brief, he cleared his throat as soon as they had taken their seats.

"Report," he stated, beginning the meeting according to tradition. The tension in the room relaxed, grateful for the distraction from the true reason behind the meeting. As each sector of the ship gave a report that differed little from their last meeting two days past, Picard considered how to approach the topic circumspectly.

When each of the officers had finished, Picard leaned forward and lightly rapped the table with his knuckles for their attention. The others, finding this method refreshingly novel, settled immediately and focused their full attention upon him. _Yes,_ he mused, _a crew not only skilled enough to survive disasters, but wise enough to prevent them._

"I'm sure that many among you have speculated as to why the _Enterprise _has been ordered to report to one of the more remote sectors of the Federation." He felt a subtle increase in their alertness. "My recent meeting with Admiral Baygard has granted me a more thorough understanding of a situation which may call for our attention. This is restricted information," he added sharply. A quick inhalation allowed him to gather his thoughts. "You should know that the Admiral has long been involved in formulating much of the Federation's policy with the Romulans, both before and during the war with the Dominion."

"Of course, Captain." The comment, surprisingly, came from Beverly Crusher. "It's widely known that she adopted a Romulan refugee long before Ambassador Spock renewed diplomatic ties with the Romulan Empire."

Picard nodded at the remark. "Correct, Doctor. What you may not know is that she has been in direct contact with the Romulan Proconsul and Senate through a complicated process that I am not at liberty to discuss." He hesitated, recalling his confusion at Baygard's circuitous explanation that linked Spock's efforts with three independent merchants, two double agents, and secret rendezvous meetings on Betazed (which had perplexed him – how could there be secret meetings on a planet of telepaths?) Shaking his head slightly, he continued, "Her efforts have uncovered a possible solution to one of the Gordian knots in the yet uneasy relationship between the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation."

Geordi LaForge glanced sharply at his commanding officer. "The twelve?"

At those words, a small charge of emotional electricity ran through the room. For, although public policy from the Romulans insisted that they had released all Federation prisoners once the Alliance was established, it was a politely ignored fact that within the bounds of the Empire there yet remained twelve Starfleet officers. Although charged with spying, they had one and all been captured during the line of duty as ship officers, collected during the years of enmity between the recently allied states. The war with the Dominion demanded that their existence remain diplomatically ignored, and these particular twelve had yet to be released or even discussed. The few rumors that made it back to the Federation through a convoluted route of free merchants and intelligence agencies were never heartening, and the few tentative attempts to establish talks to deal with the problem always ran into the walls of Romulan obstinacy and misdirection. Any negotiations that openly admitted their existence in the Empire would be a monumental steps towards achieving the captives' freedom.

Taking advantage of the sudden silence, Picard said, "Starfleet, under the purview of Admiral Baygard herself, began accumulating our own collection of Romulan 'guests' – though she didn't get into the specifics of Starfleet's acquisition of them – and leaking word of their presence to the Empire. They know that we have these individuals. The Admiral has been finessing her various contacts to arrange a meeting between Romulan representatives and a small group of Federation delegates to discuss the exchange at a place agreeable to the Romulans. They have agreed to a summit." He waited for any overt reactions. There were none, save for a heavy silence. "The _Enterprise_ has been selected as the most suitable choice for transportation to the site of negotiation."

Crusher exhaled explosively. "That's wonderful news, Captain."

Troi, however, noticed the disquiet that remained on his face. "But, Captain? You have reservations?"

Picard nodded. "I have two concerns. First, the Romulans asked for the _Enterprise_ by name." He was mildly gratified by the uneasy rustle in the room. When he had brought that point to the Admiral, she had gestured dismissively and said, "Irrelevant, Picard, irrelevant." But Picard could recall when such explicit requests in the past had led to secret betrayal and great danger to his ship. Picard braced his hands on the table. "The other, and more pertinent, consideration is the site to which we are going to provide solo transport."

"_Solo_ transport?" Riker said in astonishment. "The _Enterprise_ is going to the talks alone?"

Picard nodded. "That is why the Admiral has given us the option of declining the mission." Stilling the ripple of surprise with a spare gesture, he added, "This meeting is to decide whether or not we will accept this burden."

"Where is the site of negotiation?" Geordi inquired.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Picard glanced at Troi. Immediately their gazes locked, and he perceived an anxiety that matched his own in her luminous eyes. _Somehow,_ he thought, _she knows._ He forced himself to answer.

"Romulus."

Silence settled on the room. Picard found himself comparing it with the dead stillness before a storm.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Picard stood to attention in the transporter room. Behind him waited Troi and Riker, the former's expression deliberately precise to offset the mischievous twinkle in the latter's eyes. Riker had arrived in the transporter room in a more irrepressible mood that normal. Picard's enquiries had only earned him the bland response, "Just acquainting myself with the brig's new occupants, sir." Considering that the brig contained only the Romulan prisoners and their Federation guards, Picard wondered why Riker was behaving as if a friend long dead had suddenly returned.

Mentally shaking his head, he shoved the quandary from his thoughts and concentrated on the area before him. From behind him came the voice of Lieutenant Birge, their newest Security officer, who had remained unrattled by Worf's constant and critical training when last the Klingon had visited the _Enterprise_. "They've sent their coordinates, sir."

"Energize," he ordered.

As the shimmering blue energy of transportation appeared, five figures materialized on the transporter pad. The blue bands slowly dispersed, revealing three men and two women. He sharpened his attention as Admiral Titania Baygard approached, trailed by a tall man with dark skin.

"Captain Picard," Baygard said formally. Picard inclined his head in greeting as he studied her. Auburn hair pulled back into a no-nonsense braid did nothing to diminish either her stark beauty or her slightly Vulcan features (the legacy from a rebellious grandmother). Flashing green eyes reminded Picard of the one and only time he had dared cross this woman – and that had been when he had been an incautious lieutenant j.g. and she Commander, intent on removing the dross from the gold. Her accustomed severe amusement seemed absent as she nodded to the dignified personage by her side. "I have the honor to present Ambassador Ju-galrianmei, leader of the delegation to Romulus."

"Captain," the man said in greeting, voice a mellow rumble that made Picard's muscles relax involuntarily. He was a Deltan, the ebony smoothness of his skin surmounted by an impeccable mane of light blonde hair. A moustache the same hue of his hair framed his upper lip and trailed down either side for an additional ten inches, revealing meticulous maintenance. The Ambassador's movements sang an ageless beauty, and his steady gaze bespoke a serenity that defied chaos. The Deltan continued, "I have heard much that is good concerning your actions. Please accept my thanks for providing your ship for this mission." Then the man smiled, and Picard felt the impact of a charisma that could probably halt a mob in full cry, a charisma unique to the physically irresistible Deltans. "I am honored to make your acquaintance."

"I thank your for your praise, Ambassador Ju-galrianmei, but whatever deeds I have performed pale in comparison with your own." Picard replied in equal formality. Peripherally, he noticed Riker and Troi speaking with the other diplomats while Lieutenant Birge directed the ensigns in the removal of the luggage to the delegation's quarters. Baygard was talking quietly with a tall woman – Orion, judging from the green cast to her skin – dressed entirely in black. "As for the ship, Ambassador, she is always ready to serve peace."

The other inclined his head in acknowledgment of Picard's words. "A most noble endeavor, Captain. Perhaps the most noble of all." He gestured, subtly summoning Baygard and the Orion woman. "Ah, Admiral. Your words of this vessel and her crew contained much truthfulness. I am glad you are stubborn enough to have convinced the good Captain of the worthiness of our efforts."

Baygard raised an eyebrow – not as effective as true Vulcan, but enough angularity remained to make it a highly eloquent gesture. "Well, that's the pot calling the kettle black." As the Deltan's forehead wrinkled in confusion, she said, "Never mind. Well, Picard," she stated, turning briskly towards him. With a peculiar little flourish towards the emerald woman, she intoned, "May I present Ambassador Trenatavoalliantantina Terristinata."

Picard blinked. "Pardon?"

The woman smiled, transforming her face into the answer to every man's prayers. _Definitely Orion_, Picard mused. And, according to universal wisdom, Orion meant stunning beauty. She certainly seemed to satisfy that description, with skin that shone a provocative green, eyes that had long ago mastered the suggestive sidelong glance, and hair that seemed to breathe vitality into any male in the immediate area. Her demeanor, however, was not of one seeking physical pleasure to the exclusion of all else. Her hair, a golden river that ended at her knees, was tightly lashed and bound into submission. Her dress, long and black, failed to accentuate any salient characteristics, though it could not completely mask her physical charms. It was her expression of intense intelligence, however, that separated her most successfully from other Orions he had chanced to meet.

Extending a hand towards Picard in greeting, she murmured reassuringly, "You may call me Trenata, Captain." She threw a shrewd look at Baygard. "How long did you practice pronouncing my name?"

"Three days, nine hours, and ten minutes," Baygard responded with aplomb. "It's not my fault that you Orion women have tongue-twisters for names.

She laughed. "True, Admiral." As she turned to Ju-galrianmei, Picard noticed that she was carrying a rather small but bulky package.

"There are plenty of ensigns to carry your luggage for you, Ambassador Trenata," he said politely.

The woman demurred gracefully. "Oh no, Captain. I never let this darling out of my sight." She hefted the package and opened it for his inspection.

Picard whistled in appreciation. "Magnificent."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" she murmured to herself, gazing fondly at the violin nestled in the oddly-shaped violin case. "From nineteenth century Earth. I still don't know how Ju-galrianmei acquired him for me."

"I have my resources," the Deltan said modestly.

Eyes still on the beautiful sheen of the wood, Picard said, "My chief science officer also has an interest in the violin. I could arrange a meeting, if you like."

She smiled as she closed the case. "I believe I would at that, Captain."

Baygard cleared her throat, indicating a return to business. "Trenata, why don't you make sure that your fellow Ambassadors are settled in comfortably?"

The Orion cocked her head and grinned impishly. "All right, Admiral. I'll leave you three alone if you wish." She turned and walked towards the door. Lieutenant Birge took up position behind her. Picard watched her retreating form.

"It's amazing," remarked Baygard wryly. "She's only half Orion by blood, yet she still manages to captivate any male within sight."

"Yes," Ju-galrianmei mused thoughtfully. "I've trained her well."

Both of them look at him in surprise. _"Trained?"_ Baygard said in astonishment.

The Deltan nodded, eyes twinkling. "Diplomacy is often as much a war as any physical skirmish, Admiral. I hone and use whatever weapons present themselves."

Picard suppressed a grin at Baygard's dumbfounded expression. After a few moments of opening and closing her mouth, she finally managed, "And her other abilities?"

Ju-galrianmei nodded sagely. "Progressing well, Admiral. The Romulans will find themselves outmatched in that particular arena."

"May I inquire?" Picard inserted, a slight edge to his voice.

Baygard snapped to immediate focus. "You may not." She studied Picard's face before nodding in apparent approval. "I must return to the station. I want you gone before Starfleet Command decides that maybe it doesn't really want to risk any further agitation to the Alliance after all. I've worked too damn hard on this thing to let some octogenarian Admirals who've sat behind their desks for the last twenty years tell me that it isn't worth it." She saluted him. "Good luck, Captain."

He saluted in return. "Thank you, Admiral."

"One last word of advice, Jean-Luc: keep Guinan close. Trust her above all others."

Picard blinked, caught off guard by the apparent non sequitor. "You know her?"

The Admiral chuckled softly. "Since I was in diapers – she and my grandmother have been friends since shortly after Guinan arrived in Federation territory. If I weren't so damn busy I'd visit her just to let her scold me into proper submission." Her mouth quirked at Ju-galrianmei's snort of incredulity. "At any rate, I only have time to admonish you – she's the closest thing you'll have to a miner's canary for trouble on this mission. Heed her words above all others." She nodded curtly to Ju-galrianmei, then strode to the transporter pad and tapped her communicator. "Baygard to Alcatraz Station. One to beam up."

Ju-galrianmei watched as her figure shimmered and vanished, then turned to Picard. "Did you know she named the Station herself?"

Picard grinned. "No. I'm not particularly surprised at the notion, either."

The Deltan chuckled and fell into step beside Picard as they headed towards the door. "Captain, I believe that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Guinan settled into a meditative posture on her couch, seeking somehow to rid her muscles of the tension that had been plaguing her since arriving at the isolated station. Something within the stellar penitentiary, a queer sensation - tantalizingly familiar yet simultaneously harshly foreign - had alerted her that something was amiss; but a thorough search of the immediate area had proven inconclusive. Meticulous in her actions, she inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and _focused_, determined to discover the source of her uneasiness. Slowly the scent from her candles and the subdued lighting of her quarters penetrated to her inner core, melting the tension within bit by minute bit as her mind carefully scrutinized the space around the _Enterprise_ in search of the unknown disturbance.

Abruptly she felt a strange ripple in the area around the station, a sensation she could only categorize as an invasion – for what purpose, she could not determine. Wary – for even the void of space tended to have lingering traces of the ghosts of those long-dead – Guinan withdrew momentarily in order to erect defenses against possible attack. Once certain of proper protection, Guinan again scanned the area looking for the anomaly.

It was gone. She perceived only the presence of people rushing about their duties, similar to the _Enterprise_ during the course of a typical shift.

Guinan sighed and opened her eyes. A dull ache awoke behind her eyes, with a directness that warned her it would soon demand her full attention. As she reached up and massaged the back of her neck, she pondered the ramifications of her elusive discovery. If Guinan had been limited to the senses of a human, she would never have noticed the peculiarity in the first place. A quick check indicated that nothing unusual seemed to be affecting the ship or the station. She pondered dismissing the incident out of hand.

But her spine tingled sharp objection to such a simple rationalization and warned her that a storm was gathering.


	3. Chapter 2

The bedside communicator beeped insistently, rousing Picard from a sound sleep. Pushing himself from the warm confines of his bed, he leaned over and tapped the acknowledge key. "Yes?" he inquired sleepily.

"Captain," Data's calm voice came over the link. "There's a priority subspace communication from Alcatraz Station which requires your immediate attention. Shall I relay it to your quarters?"

Now fully awake, Picard said, "At once, Mr. Data." Hastily shoving the bedclothes away, he staggered to his feet and made his way to the main console in his living room. Placing himself before it, he ordered, "On screen."

A familiar figure appeared on the screen as the transmission began in mid-sentence. "—is Admiral Baygard, from Alcatraz Station. Damn it, Picard, I hope you get this message. Repeat: Alcatraz has been attacked by three cloaked Romulan vessels."

Picard's jaw tightened as the details of her appearance penetrated his astonishment. Her normally immaculate braid disarrayed, her face smudged with blood, and her left arm held awkwardly in pain. A chill ran through him as the transmission continued.

"Casualties are extensive: one in every three guards has been wounded, half of those mortally so. The assailants beamed through our shields and fought their way to the section that previously contained the Romulan prisoners."

Fighting a growing sense of dismay in the pit of his stomach, Picard forced his mind to analyze the implications of this revelation. The fact that the Romulans had transported through the most advanced shields known to Starfleet indicated either an astonishingly high level of technology that the Romulans had never demonstrated before, or someone in Starfleet Command had told the invaders precisely what they needed to know to bypass the defenses. An insider.

A traitor.

Picard swallowed harshly against the sudden knot in his throat. Meanwhile, the grim message went on. "Upon discovering that the Romulan prisoners were already gone, they beamed back to their ships, through the shields, cloaked, and vanished. A subsequent search of the station revealed only one missing personnel: my son Merak. Whether he was abducted by force or left willingly is still undetermined." The grief on her face showed that she suspected the former, but feared the latter. Since Merak was a Romulan refugee, either choice was equally likely. "All evidence suggests that these Romulans were renegades with old ships and lesser fighting ability. However, their current location is unknown. If they want those prisoners badly enough…" Picard nodded to himself grimly. Even if ancient, three cloaked ships posed a significant danger to the safety of the _Enterprise_. "Consult with Ju-galrianmei on the best course of action to follow. End transmission."

The screen went blank. Picard was already moving towards his closet. "Picard to Ju-galrianmei."

"Ju-galrianmei here," responded the Ambassador in an obscenely short amount of time, considering the hour.

_Does the man never sleep?_ Picard wondered irritably. "I need both Ambassador Trenata and yourself to meet me in ten minutes in Conference Room One."

The man didn't sound ruffled as he replied smoothly, "We're on our way, Captain."

As Picard roused Riker and Troi, he kept running Baygard's message through his head again and again. _A traitor._ He shuddered.

* * *

><p>"This is grave news indeed, Captain," Ju-galrianmei observed.<p>

They sat around the table in the conference room. Riker looked understandably tired, but both the Deltan and Trenata looked as if they had prepared for over an hour for this meeting. Not only that, they had been casually chatting with Troi when Riker and Picard had arrived. _Did they never sleep?_ Picard wondered again.

"The situation possesses some odd details," Troi ventured.

Picard glanced at her. "How do you mean?"

Her brow furrowed. Despite the lateness of the hour and the unexpected nature of the meeting, she appeared calm and fully in control of her faculties. "She was expecting that attack."

"What?" Riker asked incredulously.

"I agree," Trenata spoke up, expression intent. "During my time at Alcatraz, I sensed in the Admiral a growing impatience for the _Enterprise_ to retrieve the prisoners and be gone." She spoke directly to Picard. "You can't possibly know how relieved she was that you accepted this mission, Captain. Her second choice, the U.S.S. _Bahrain_, remained four days away by nominal warp travel.

"And far enough away to ensure the success of that rescue attempt," Riker mused. He peered at the Orion woman. "How did you know what the Admiral was feeling?"

Trenata blushed, casting a delicate shade of lavender to her cheeks. "My father was of Betazed, Commander. Though he was not so powerful a telepath as Counselor Troi's mother, he still managed to pass on some of his ability to me. Ju-galrianmei has been instructing me in the use of my abilities."

Troi gave her a penetrating look. "I was wondering when you were going to admit it." Ignoring the Ambassador's deepening blush, she said, "I am sure that the Admiral was expecting the rescue attempt, sir, but that does not indicate any complicity on her part."

Ju-galrianmei chuckled. "Of course not, my dear Counselor. The good Admiral and I know exactly who is to blame for our woes. She didn't dare to state his name over the transmission since it would surely be intercepted."

"Who?" Riker asked in surprise.

"Commodore Roswell," the Deltan said without hesitation. Picard blinked in surprise: he remembered Roswell, a balding older man with slightly bulging eyes. He'd seemed harmless enough, if rather absentminded, when he had taught a course on interplanetary diplomacy at the Academy. "I've suspected for years that he indulges in illegal dealings with various parties, Romulans among them." He leveled a direct look at Picard. "You are familiar with my personal history?"

Picard issued a shallow nod. The past three days had provided ample opportunity to investigate the histories of the Ambassadors in the delegation team. Ju-galrianmei's record had proven to be quite impressive. In addition to being renowned for maintaining serenity and clear-headedness during intense situations, Ju-galrianmei had inherited the reputation and ability of his esteemed grandfather Ra-ghoratei. That past President of the Federation Council had been responsible for developing the delicate balance between the Federation and the Klingon Empire when the latter's collapse had finally become inevitable.

Equally puissant in diplomacy and governance, Ju-galrianmei had established himself early as a skilled ambassador. In his short ten year career, he had overseen three treaties between planets that had sworn blood feuds, prevented five civil wars in low-technology civilizations, and mediated two territorial disputes that were potentially disruptive to some of the most vital trading routes spanning the Federation.

_He certainly is in the position to know secrets,_ mused Picard.

The Deltan concluded his explanation. "Unfortunately, until now evidence against Roswell has proven to be relatively scarce or dangerous to acquire."

"What do you mean, until now?" Picard asked.

Ju-galrianmei smiled and laid a conspiratorial finger alongside his nose. "To get three cloaked Romulan ships within Federation territory is not that difficult, particularly since the establishment of the Alliance. To locate a top-secret prison unknown to anyone below the level of Commodore, and to penetrate the defenses of that same station with such apparent ease, however, implies authority of the highest sort. Merak certainly couldn't have done it, and I don't think even I could have arranged it." He sighed. "And I'm afraid that Roswell has plenty of cronies to aid him in his activities. One of them must have slipped into Alcatraz some time ago and learned enough about the shields to move the Romulans in and out when necessary."

"Those warbirds could be anywhere," Riker pointed out. "We have to assume that they are still being helped by whoever aided them before." He looked at Picard. "We don't have many options, do we?"

Picard sighed wearily. "This particular sector has less of a Starfleet presence since the war began than others. Currently our closest sufficient Starfleet aid, assuming we can summon help without alerting those warbirds of our location, would need two days traveling at a moderate speed to reach us. From our current position, the Empire is—" he paused, considering the time elapsed since receiving Baygard's communiqué, "—one day distant at nominal warp travel."

Riker's brow wrinkled. "Much as I hate to dance into danger," he opined, ignoring Troi's disbelieving glare, "I think we should go ahead with the mission."

"My sentiments precisely," Ju-galrianmei endorsed.

Picard rested his chin on his thumb and rubbed his forefinger across his upper lip. "Does anyone have anything to add?"

"Only this, Captain, although I do not believe that it will affect our decision," Troi stated calmly. "When Admiral Baygard spoke of Merak's disappearance, two emotions were quite clear: grief and surprise."

"She expected the attack, but not the abduction of her son? Surely the Romulans would be aware of his value as a hostage." The other possibility, that Merak was an accomplice, he left unspoken.

"Nevertheless, Captain," Troi repeated emphatically, "his absence caught her completely unawares." She cocked her head, mien pensive. "I'm almost inclined to think that the Romulans weren't responsible for his departure."

"But he _is_ Romulan," Riker pointed out. "Considering their past record for betrayal, we can't reject the idea that Merak may have been an Imperial agent."

Ju-galrianmei shook his head in vehement disagreement. "Admiral Baygard adopted Merak when he was four years old after rescuing him from Khalan III."

Troi appeared startled. "Aren't the planets of the systems inimical to most forms of life?"

He nodded grimly. "Apparently he had been taken there by Romulans and left to perish. I can assure there is little love lost between Merak and his planet of origin. The Federation is his home. However," here the Deltan sighed heavily, "his disappearance is a troubling development."

Picard pondered the situation, then exhaled with resignation. "I'm afraid our decision has already been determined. We go on."

Everyone seated around the table nodded somberly. What other choice was left to them besides follow the path before them as it fell away behind?

* * *

><p>An hour passed slowly before Picard admitted that tension prevented him from regaining the gentle refuge of slumber. Frustrated, he opted to calm his frazzled nerves by turning to one of his few personal indulgences: reading antique novels. <em>The Divine Comedy<em>, one of the more engrossing titles in his personal library, managed to enthrall him so completely that when the doorbell chimed, Picard automatically responded, "Come" without pausing to consider who would choose to visit their Captain in the wee hours of the morning.

A quiet hiss let him know his visitor had entered. "Sorry to bother you, sir," an unfamiliar voice stated crisply, "but we need to talk."

Startled, Picard glanced up from his novel to find a complete stranger clad in a dark blue jumpsuit standing across from him. "Who-?" he asked, rising from his chair in alarm.

The figure bowed smoothly. "Commander Killian of the Elite, sir. Admiral Baygard deemed our presence necessary to control the Romulan 'guests'." As he straightened, Picard scrutinized him carefully, gauging the man as he would any unknown entity. He was tall, with a body that followed the basic outline of a dedicated fighter: lean, wiry, each movement displaying tight control. Thin lips remained still on a face remarkable for its sheer lack of emotion. As he met Killian's eyes, Picard found it difficult to maintain contact with the seemingly lifeless gaze.

Picard raised an eyebrow as he slowly resumed his seat. "The Elite?" he inquired with tight control.

The man smiled, though his eyes remained empty of emotion. "A description applied to those particular officers chosen to serve at certain restricted locations – such as Alcatraz Station – throughout the Federation," he answered. "We possess extraordinary abilities in unarmed combat and self-defense." A self-deprecating grin ghosted across his face. "We tend not to draw duties on exploratory vessels."

Abruptly Picard remembered Baygard telling him in passing that special guards would be sent over with the Romulans, but the haste of their departure and the recent trouble had pushed the details from his mind. "Why did you not present yourself to me earlier?" Picard demanded.

Killian shrugged. "We prefer to remain circumspect in our duties, Captain. Commander Riker," a peculiar amusement rippled across his face, "aided me in ensuring the brig's security. At the time I deemed no further contact with you or your crew necessary."

Feeling the effects of his insomnia beginning to drag his eyelids shut, Picard protested, "This is highly irregular, Commander."

"True," the other man murmured as he turned a chair around and straddled it, "but I have my orders."

Picard studied him, marveling at the absolute poise of the man. Not many people would interrupt the recreation of their superior officers, especially with as little explanation as Killian had offered thus far. Yet his face showed no concern at his audacity, and the hands clasped comfortably before him betrayed no fear of reprisal. Sighing silently, Picard said, "What did you wish to discuss?"

"You received the Admiral's message." A flat statement, implying nothing.

Picard nodded shortly in reply.

"An additional message was relayed to me on a special channel employed by the Elite, one that Roswell won't anticipate or be able to intercept." His casual implication of the Commodore startled Picard. "I presume you have opted to continue to the Empire."

Intrigued despite himself, Picard leaned forward slightly. "That was the decision reached by the delegation and myself, yes."

Grinning slightly, Killian said, "I would share certain concerns with you before entering Imperial territory, Captain. The attack on Alcatraz raises the issue of treachery, sir. I am authorized, in these situations, to grant you access to the private Elite signal. No one else must know it exists, not even your first officer." Killian extended his hand expectantly, and abruptly Picard realized that the man actually held out a small device balanced delicately on the tip of his index finger. Picard, in taking it, discovered it to be a dull white object half the length of his pinkie nail. Killian continued, "Our channel has never been compromised, sir, and the evidence of betrayal obligates me to ensure that you always have an uncorrupted means to contact me or my men. Simply attach it to a tooth. To use it, lick it and say my name and your message."

Picard smiled. "A bit undignified, isn't it?"

Killian shrugged. "As long as it escapes notice, I really don't care where they go." He paused, considering. "Well, almost anywhere." Abruptly serious again, he met Picard's gaze. "Pray that you never need to use it, sir. Use it only under extreme circumstances."

Picard nodded. Killian waited politely while Picard rather self-consciously placed the mini-communicator on the non-tongue side of a molar. After it seemed firmly attached, he said, a trifle pointedly, "Do you require anything further of me, Commander?"

The Elite cocked his head and, standing, proceeded to prowl around the room. "I would value your opinion on a different matter." Abruptly restless, he averted his gaze from Picard's to scrutinize the various artifacts on display. "I had already chosen the Elite contingent for Romulus when Admiral Baygard informed me that it would not be feasible to include her son."

"You mean Merak?"

"Merak is an apt pupil of the physical arts, Captain, and an invaluable linguistic asset. The Admiral was adamant, however, so I was forced to select a replacement with few alternatives open to me." His roving gaze settled on Picard again. "The Elite are very…selective about who joins their ranks."

In that spare comment, Picard detected a subtle self-mocking tone. Discrimination, then, most likely against those who had in the past been at odds with Starfleet or the Federation. _No Romulans or Klingons, most likely,_ Picard mused silently. He held his peace, merely stating, "And your point, Mr. Killian?"

"The replacement I chose lost a wife and brother during Starfleet's initial encounter with the Borg, sir. I suspect he harbors strong resentment towards you and your science officer, Data."

Picard shuddered at his memories of the Borg, and the nightmares which they yet inspired. "He condemns me for alerting the Borg to our existence?"

The Elite Commander resumed pacing. "And Commander Data simply for being like to them in physiology. Maximillian Brent represents the best of the Elite, sir, but he also occasionally displays a tendency for volatile emotion." A smile ghosted across his face. "Not unlike a certain first officer under your command."

Oblivious to the last comment, Picard swallowed harshly as he remembered the struggle to overcome the mental rape he had suffered at the whim of the Borg. "Considering how long it took to conquer my own obsessions concerning the Borg, I can hardly begrudge the man his own hatred." Killian flickered a glance at him. Sensing a hidden query, Picard added sharply, "That is none of your concern, Commander."

Killian paused long enough to scrutinize him with strangely dead eyes. "No, I daresay it isn't. However, I would appreciate it if you told me this: is the infamous exercise program which Commander Worf claimed to have created available in the holodecks?"

Taken aback by the puzzling segue, Picard answered, "To my knowledge, yes. It has become somewhat of a fixture in ships regularly hosting Klingon dignitaries."

Killian tapped his lip with a finger, mien pensive. "And, in your esteemed opinion, would Commander Data be available to display its versatility to certain Elite officers?"

"I cannot think of any reason which would prevent him," Picard replied, nonplussed, then added, "Commander Riker claims the program proves quite effective at forcing a warrior to recognize his limits."

To his mild amazement, a minute grin found its way to Killian's lips. "Will said that, eh?" Excellent, Captain – this may expedite matters." Straightening, he gave Picard a tight nod. "Permission to leave, sir."

"Permission granted, Mr. Killian," he managed, discomfited. Only after Killian had swept from the room did he realize that the man had again used Riker's nickname. He briefly considered recalling Killian, then decided against it. His authority did not cover shameless curiosity of his officers' private lives. He retrieved his book and resumed reading, pushing other thoughts from his mind.


	4. Elsewhere 1

The cell was tiny, cramped, and deliberate. Its builders had obviously intended it to be a holding cell, constructed in the years after the Second Uprising when noble necks were severed with little compunction. It was a cell calculated to inspire hopelessness and fear, crafted to invoke madness: the ultimate form of dominance. The architects achieved a triumph in psychological warfare using simple but effective torture: the windows which were little more than airholes, the 'bed' which wouldn't allow a tiny child comfort at night, and the lack of facilities save a noisome hole in the middle of the floor.

Witness, however, the door: huge and black, its presence suffocated hope. The eldritch nature of it burned the eye with an utter lack of light, decrying any natural origin of color or design. No, this portal of doom was gloom incarnate, constructed of a material made to absorb light but never give it. In the Empire, prisoners were never executed at dawn: they were put into these death cells to watch the last ray of hope perish upon that slab of implacable hatred. In the past, some screamed in agony as the door sucked the last daylight out of the stifling air. Others ignored the door completely, dwelling on personal nightmares until it creaked open ominously, granting entrance to the tall executioners robed in scarlet. In the end, they all made acquaintance with the door as they found themselves strapped lengthwise upon it to cough out their life's blood.

Death permeated the cell, enveloping its prisoners in the pitiless grip of defeat.

Currently, however, the occupant neither wept nor brooded. She did not know the amount of time she had spent in this hellhole, punished for the crime of her parents. She had long since ceased cataloging the tortures her captives performed upon her, driving her beyond the comprehension of pain into a reality where the senses, emotions, and actions melded together into a diamond of hurt that burned constantly throughout all awareness. Plots of vengeance seethed deep inside of her, but any actions were held at bay by the cruel collar around her neck. The seamless piece of metal denied her control of her body and thoughts, so that not even the final peace of death could slake the fiery onslaught.

Instead, she sat, a motionless form filling the bed, legs clenched close to her torso. Arms hung limply at her sides, rigidly relaxed into immobility. The coarse, insufficient clothing lay over a body reeking of filth and spilt blood, both old and new. Hair matted with dirt and neglect surrounded the lowered head, hiding details of expression in darkest shadow. No muscle moved, no limb twitched, as she occupied the bed hour after hour. Ragged breathing was the only sound, became the only reality, a wretched gasp of noise that denoted life at irregular intervals, as the collar bade her.

Yet still she fought the collar, as she had every day since her enslavement as a child. Her eyes remembered a bright light, far brighter than the sunbeams that hesitantly assaulted the darkness around her. Her ears recalled words spoken with love, not with the fear and contempt that defiled her spirit each day. Her hands, which now ached from enforced tension, strove to caress the distant memory of gowns of green silk. She knew, in some almost forgotten pocket of _self_ that she had once been happy…

The collar tightened its grip, driving her memories away, hiding them with the grim reality of the present. As the scant sunlight disappeared into the abyss of the door, she finally gave up her struggles and descended into the dubious respite of restless slumber, and even more restless dreams.

_She drifted in darkness, cold and limp. She knew this place, for it was all that had sustained her throughout her years of torment. Yet now, something moved within this nothingness, a force that was something new, something unexpected._

she opened her eyes to find not darkness but

_brilliant light, lancing around her body in joyful motions that brought peace and serenity. Bemused, she watched them flow past, feeling something within her stir and reach_

this was a dream, just a dream!

_and grasp the light, bending it back to fill the emptiness within her. Not knowing what she wrought, not caring for the consequences, she extended again to take more of the ebullience into herself_

a dream, she could still feel the cold stone beneath her motionless body…

_when suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Startled, she turned around_

the collar tightened its grip, shuddering in its attempt to contain infinity…

_and encountered the kind gaze of a Romulan she had never met. And she_ remembered _him, for his life had once been hers_

the metal circle groaned as it strove and failed to resist the unexpected pressure…

_and his laughter joined hers, filling the universe with power and light and_

the collar disintegrated.

she felt something awake within her.

"_Who are you?" she demanded of the Romulan._

"_I am Merak."_

"_You are…" she paused, unsure of how to express the fierce exultation that suddenly coursed through her._

"_I am of you, as you are of me."_

_She trembled, feeling her own metamorphosis. "What has happened?"_

_He smiled then, and a light emerged from the smile to find the light within her and merge with it. Suddenly, they embraced each other, tears raining grace upon their past grief, laughter healing the eternal pain of separation. They held each other, content to be with one another again, not caring for the moment about the how or why of it, forgetting that they had ever been apart._

_Abruptly a brief flash of darkness appeared, forcing them away from each other._

"_What?" she spluttered._

"_They're searching for us!" the man cried, agony in his voice. His gaze sharpened as he turned to her. "I must leave."_

_She started to object, to beg denial. He softened immediately and kissed her brow. "Adara, my heart, I will not be able to return to you here. Yet the door is now open." He brushed his hand on her cheek and cupped her chin in his palm. "Remember this being," and suddenly an awareness entered her memory, with a face – a woman, skin and hair the color of fecund soil, joy filling her dark eyes, "and go to her."_

"_Go to her? But my captors—"_

"_The door is open," he repeated intensely. "But you must beware – others hunt us now."_

_Her confusion deepened. "Others?"_

_Merak released her and backed away reluctantly. "I_ must _leave. I am not prepared to…" He trailed off, mouth working silently. "Remember to claim_ sabvasa_!" he cried as he turned._

"_Wait!" she screamed, but felt his presence disappear._

_The darkness suddenly returned, and with a cry of pain_

she awoke.

A harsh glare of red light blinded her momentarily. Romulan hands, severe with anger, gripped her arms and propelled her from her stony roost and through the dread door into the corridor beyond. Indifferent to their passage through the halls, she abruptly realized that for the first time in years, she could actually feel hatred towards her captors. The realization swept through her awareness like a drug, intoxicating her with a delirious joy.

The dizzying journey abruptly came to an end as her silent companions strapped her into a familiar implement, the Chair of Pain. The four Romulans left her there and clustered together in frenzied conversation on the other side of the room. Small snatches of the words and fragments of thoughts carried to her, though she comprehended none of it.

"…if they find out…"

"They won't, not if we rid ourselves of her now…"

She found herself scrutinizing the Chair anew, wondering at the sudden increased acuity of her consciousness. Gazing at the dark straps that immobilized her arms and legs, she almost imagined that she could perceive the molecules within, every atom, every quark.

"But her abilities! We were about to discover more, I am sure of it…"

"…find out. The order of the Senate…"

The air in the room felt magnificent, a spring field of flowers compared to the dead fetidity of her cell. She deciphered each mote of dust and scent, including the sweat of fear and the rank saltiness of old blood and other bodily emissions.

"Bah! The Senate! Her mother's death…"

"…at the time, seemed appropriate…"

Her skin felt alive, electrified. The sterile plastic and metal that pushed up against her and prevented movement appeared absolutely smooth, yet she located thousands of tiny imperfections, small cracks that went unnoticed by her captors and herself, before. What had changed to awaken her so?

"…strange activity in her cell…"

"Enough! We are decided."

She recalled the emotions that had plagued her before: fear, despair, trepidation. Now she found another passion demanding attention, superseding all others: hatred – hatred of her captives, of the implement that clutched horribly at her body, and of the universe for allowing such evils to proliferate. She wondered what had changed to allow such strong sentiments to exist that before had been only the remotest of memories. As the group finished discussion and turned to face her with grim expressions on their faces, she suddenly comprehended what, precisely, had altered.

Her neck was wonderfully, gloriously, naked.

The foremost Romulan approached her. Her newly released mind noticed his robe of executioner scarlet. Had that been the one to talk about 'getting rid of her?' Holding tight to apparent inactivity, she tested her enemy's resolve with her gaze.

Finally he demanded, "How did you destroy the stasis collar?" She didn't answer, merely continued to stare at him. His face darkened, accenting the ragged scar that ran across his forehead down to a mechanical eye, as he interpreted her silence, correctly, for rebellion. "Answer me, or we shall practice such arts upon your body as will leave those pains you experienced before to be the caress of a lover in comparison."

She searched within herself again, surprised at the lack of fear. The Romulan's words washed over her, leaving no sticky residue of guilt in its wake, and her newfound hatred and righteous anger burned away the filth and grime that had accumulated on her mind and spirit during her captivity. Suddenly she recalled the stranger – _no stranger, but dearer than her own heart_ – in her dream, and his words came to her, as clear and distant as after a storm on the plains: _The door is open._

She smiled then, causing the Romulan before her to flinch warily. Abruptly realizing that she no longer needed to remain, she closed her eyes and remembered happiness.

And returned to it.


	5. Chapter 3

Data firmed his grip on Brent's hand, wondering at the peculiar twist on his opponent's lip. The scar on the Elite officer's face burned lividly as he levered his elbow into position. Though Ten-Forward didn't have very many occupants during this shift, an avid audience yet sat nearby in the form of Brent's fellow Elite security personnel, Tharon Beckett and Jonathan Navarre. Commander Killian observed the plateau dispassionately, fingers steepled before his face, eyes deep in thought. Still uncertain how he had been talked into this odd arm-wrestling contest, Data said politely, "I am ready."

Brent snarled softly. "I hope so, _machine_," he spat in response. "I'm not minded to wait upon your whims."

Distracted by the contradiction of his opponent's words – machines, after all, were not known for their whimsical natures – Data nearly lost his grip as a strong lunge sought to immediately ram Data's arm to the table. Surprised at the enormous strength in the human, he quickly increased his own pressure to equal, but not yet surpass, that of the other man, for he had no wish to give offense by winning too quickly. Brent's eyes narrowed slightly at the android's quick reaction to his attack. His heavy brows lowered as he strained against Data's seemingly immobile defense, though only a slight grunt indicated the tremendous effort he put forth to defeat his foe. Concerned that the man might stubbornly push himself into injury, Data switched from parity of strength to gradually increasing his own thrust, forcing Brent's arm down onto the table. The other broke the grip quickly, as if contact with the android burned his skin.

"Hah!" barked Navarre. "I've never seen anyone defeat Brent so quickly before!" Smugness spread across the man's perfect features. Data took a quick second to again scrutinize the mysterious Navarre. Although human, the physical perfection of the man puzzled the android. All humans possessed minute flaws to those with the ability to discern them: one eye lower than the other, slightly off-center teeth, even one leg longer than the other. Yet none of these mild blemishes marred Navarre. Not even the hair on his head moved out of place. Data dismissed these concerns for later pondering as the man finished his adulation of Data's simple victory. "Well done, Commander." Navarre raised his beverage in mock salute.

"Congratulations," murmured Beckett. Apparently exhausted by his eloquence, he sat back in his chair. Indifference again settled over his features. His conversational reticence and the slight dappling of dots along the curve of his cheeks betrayed his non-human nature, though Narwen did not often venture from their home planet on Argos IV. Otherwise, his brown skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and ruddy complexion rendered him indistinguishable from the typical Terran.

"Well, Brent?" Killian asked after a long silence. "What do you say?"

Brent slammed a furious glare at Killian, who only stared back calmly. Something unspoken passed between them, and Brent relaxed enough to meet Data's eyes with his own. "The victory is yours, machine." He shook his head and grimaced slightly, the tension gone from his actions. "My annoying colleague is correct: no one's ever beaten me that handily before. If you weren't an android…" The word became an epithet. "Never mind." He leaned forward, posture eager. "Killian mentioned an exercise program designed for Klingons?"

Baffled by the abrupt shift of topic, Data responded, "A multi-level training program was designed for Klingon guests who claimed that the existing programs were inadequate for their needs."

Brent nodded slowly, a peculiar eagerness in his expression. "I'd like to try it sometime, Commander." Data blinked – the honorific seemed out of place coming from someone technically his equal in rank. "Our own programs haven't been updated in a while, and I'd hate to get rusty. Could you perhaps arrange to demonstrate this program for me?"

Uncertain at the exact motivations behind the request, Data replied, "I would consider it—" His words were interrupted by a beep.

"Mr. Data, report to the bridge immediately."

"On my way, Captain." Data gained his feet in one smooth motion and strode towards the door, oblivious of Brent's gaze burning into his back as he marched out. Beckett reached out with inhuman speed and grabbed Brent's arm, tightening his grip in warning. Brent nodded sullenly, relaxing into his chair.

And grinned. "Well, Beckett?" he challenged, proffering his hand.

Killian remained motionless, eyes dead of emotion.

* * *

><p>"And this is my favorite part of the entire ship, Counselor-Deanna-Troi," Hiran Firrg claimed extravagantly.<p>

Deanna glanced around the bar, smiling slightly. "I thought you said the holodecks were your favorite, Ambassador."

Hiran Firrg – the wiry Revnik from Kilparr, the planet that claimed to be the exact population center of the Federation – chirruped quietly to himself. Relatively humanoid in form, his long legs and spindly arms made it appear as if he were going to fall into pieces at any instant. Deanna recalled an old acquaintance of her mother who claimed to have seen a Revnik actually lose a limb and, with little concern, attach it again. Although she questioned the validity of that claim, her own observance of the sprawling gait and wild physical gyrations of the Revnik at her side forced her consider if the rumor could be true.

"I have many favorites, Counselor-Deanna-Troi." An interesting idiosyncrasy of the Revniks was the manner in which they addressed others. No one had ever successfully explained to the natives of Kilparr that the titles Starfleet assigned to their personnel were not actually part of their names. The Revniks insisted that those titles represented as important an aspect of the beings granted them as any name given during the various ceremonies that peppered the Federation's far spanning civilizations. Except for that peculiarity, Revniks demonstrated thorough fluency in Standard and cooperated completely with other races. They often entered the diplomatic corps simply because they refused to assume evil in anyone, claiming that actions were more important than reputations. The flap of skin on top of his head quivered slightly indicating amusement as he added, "Unlike my sour companion here."

"I could never hope to view the world with the innocence you pretend to, Hiran," the third member of the little group pointed out sardonically as he idly admired the starscape through the window. Ignacius Johnson, fourth Ambassador in the delegation to Romulus, sighed in a put-upon manner. His rather diminutive one and a half meters of height gave Deanna the rather novel sensation of looking down at someone while they conversed. His bright blue eyes studied the world from a face that was designed to be cheerful, despite the Revnik's remark, and his gray hair appeared to possess a liberated attitude towards attempts at control. "Besides," he continued, "I'm supposed to be the cantankerous codger that the rest of you have to constantly refrain from demanding completely unreasonable recompense, remember? I'm just practicing." Deanna's senses informed her that the banter between the two was habitual and facetious: beneath the surface, the two disparate Ambassadors seemed genuinely fond of each other.

Her offer of an informal tour before the meeting that day had led to an extremely entertaining afternoon of being dragged through the ship, gawking at the running commentary from the Revnik as he chattered on about the history of the materials from which various parts of the ships were constructed. The last stop before Ten-Forward had been the closest holodeck, where he had earnestly explained that the concept had been derived from children's crayons and overactive imaginations.

Hiran Firrg abruptly swept towards the bar, arms and legs wobbling at different angles in protest to his speed. She felt his sardonic glee and exchanged a resigned glance with Johnson, who rolled his eyes and accompanied her in Firrg's wake. They arrived at the bar just as the little Revnik rapped the smooth counter with his knuckles.

"Bartender!" he called. Guinan swiveled her head, sighted the Revnik, and approached them with an inquisitive eyebrow already raised.

"I believe you've been watching too many old Earth holos, Ambassador-Hiran-Firrg," she said when she reached them.

Firrg's eyes widened ingenuously. "You mean the ones in which dusty humans chase one another on the backs of dusty four legged creatures, employing primitive missile weapons to stop each other?" A huge grin threatened to split his head apart. "Damn straight I have."

Guinan regarded him dispassionately for a moment, then reached under the counter and grabbed a mug. Whipping a cloth from some hidden recess in her clothing and spitting unceremoniously onto the glass, she casually began to polish it as she drawled, "What'll it be, pardner?"

Howling in laughter, the little Revnik gasped, "I told you this was my favorite place, Counselor-Deanna-Troi!" Troi exchanged a bemused glance with Guinan as Firrg fought to regain his breath. "I believe I'll have shot of whiskey, straight down."

"Up," corrected Johnson, obviously attempting to sound as disagreeable as possible despite the merry twinkle in his eyes. "The proper phrase is 'straight up.'"

"The good hostess-Guinan knows of which I speak," he said acerbically. Then, abruptly worried, he looked at Guinan and asked plaintively, "You do know of which I speak, do you not?" He relaxed as Guinan nodded, her mouth twitching with mirth. "Will you join me in refreshment, Counselor-Deanna-Troi?" he inquired, pointedly ignoring the smirking Johnson.

Deanna smiled. "Of course, Ambassador." As Guinan quietly prepared their drinks, they sat chatting pleasantly about the weather systems on their respective planets until a sudden shout arose from a small cluster of people near the observation window.

"What is occurring over there, I wonder?" marveled Firrg, even as he stood and marched over to the commotion. Curious, Troi followed him. The crowd gave way in deference to their rank, opening up to reveal a table where two men in blue jumpsuits grappled each other in a ferocious arm-wrestling contest. Disinterested herself, she turned to find Firrg rapt. "What are they doing, Counselor-Deanna-Troi?"

"It is a test of physical strength called arm-wrestling," she explained. "The goal is to push the opponent's arm flat onto the surface of the table." Firrg nodded, unable to remove his eyes from the contest. She judged him content and turned to finish her drink.

Abruptly a figure presented itself before her with an elegant bow. "You are Counselor Troi?" he murmured as he straightened, though the tone implied the statement was not an inquiry, merely an entry into conversation. "May I have a moment of your time?"

"If you wish," she said cautiously, unable to determine his identity or motives. They pushed their way out of the growing throng and retreated to one of the more secluded tables. Taking a seat, Deanna subjected the man to a more thorough scrutiny.

A rugged attractiveness masked an almost animalistic sense of hunger deep below the surface. His movements displayed absolute control, and nothing escaped the piercing dissection of his attention. His gaze slithered like a snake above the pleasant smile directed towards her. Shivering, she realized that she could detect no emotional resonance from him – it was almost as if he didn't exist. Returning his stare, she said crisply, "What did you wish to discuss?"

"You were acquainted with Will before you began your assignment on this ship," he stated.

"If you are referring to Commander Riker..." she began, puzzled.

He waved his hand, a spare gesture. "Yes, yes, William Thomas Thelonius Riker, one of the most promising non-Captains in Starfleet."

"We had met before, yes," she replied.

"You were lovers?"

Suddenly incensed, which surprised her because Betazoids were not generally prudish about sexual encounters, she demanded, "And what is your interest? You haven't even introduced yourself!"

The man's only reaction was to narrow his eyes slightly as they contemplated her indignant expression. Then, smiling in such a way that his expression remained unchanged, he murmured, "I'm impressed. He never struck me as patient enough to earn the respect of such a worthy woman as yourself." Bereft of argument, she stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "Perhaps an introduction is in order." He stood up and again bowed, no mockery in his demeanor. "My full name is Killian Samuel Spartacus Riker." Troi blinked in astonishment. "Will and I are related distantly through our great grandfather."

Unable to resist, Troi asked archly, "The one who killed the rattlesnake by letting it bite him?"

Reclaiming his seat, he replied sardonically, "Yes Counselor. I apologize for any incivility or discomfort my questions caused you, yet I needed to know. You see, occasionally Will and I would spend summers together at my father's property. As children we were highly competitive, and consequently we established a number of bets to be determined by our adult lives. Among these was who would first earn the honest love of a woman. Apparently, I have lost."

Irritation flashed through Troi, though only momentarily. "An unusual bet."

He cocked his head. "Ah, but I am not completely undone. I knew even then that I would always be the superior warrior."

Confused by this remark, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Consider this, Counselor, as I did: if names do indeed indicate your lot in life, then Will was destined for command. What more do you need to be in charge than a strong will to inspire others to follow your lead? My name, on the other hand, dictates an entirely different use of power." He smirked and leaned forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think, Counselor. If Will is derived from William, what logically can be made of the name Killian?"

Suddenly cold, she realized what he implied. "Kill," she murmured in a horrified tone.

He smiled beatifically. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Before she could respond or recover from the chill that ran down her spine, a shout arose from the crowd assembled around the wrestling table. Deanna followed Killian as he smoothly dashed over to the site.

* * *

><p>Beckett strained against Brent's grip, but he could already feel the losing battle taxing his strength. Rather than waste energy trying to defeat the other's stifled pride, he gave the quick slash across his throat with a free hand to indicate surrender. Brent grinned, scar rippling. "You may have speed, Narwen, but I have the strength."<p>

Beckett regarded him mildly with lidded eyes. "Perhaps, Brent, but I have learned to rely upon the strength of my mind as well." Brent's face darkened. Beckett never bothered to disguise his disdain for the other's obsessive hatred of the Borg and any person associated with them.

"I'll take that into consideration, Lieutenant," he grated through clenched teeth, pointedly emphasizing Beckett's lower rank. With a final glower, he stood abruptly and stalked angrily from the room.

Beckett watched him leave with a sad sigh, then considered the crowd around them. Always one to enjoy attention, he glanced questioningly at Navarre, the only other Elite present. Laughing, the other declined the implicit challenge. "You know this is not my preferred form. I'd much rather my arm stay connected to the rest of me, thank you."

Disappointed, the Narwen turned to the people clustered expectantly around the table. "A challenge! Does anyone wish to face me?"

A voice called from the crowd. "I will meet your strength!" Beckett gaped in astonishment as a gangly figure emerged from the crowd, the crown of his head literally twitching. Beckett vaguely identified him as a member of the negotiating team. "This game intrigues me, Elite-Lieutenant-Beckett." _How does he know my name?_ wondered the bemused Narwen. "I wish to experience it.

Beckett wanted to join in the chuckle that rippled through the now thoroughly engrossed spectators. Regarding the thin wiry body of his 'opponent,' he inhaled deeply and tried to think of a quick excuse to back out of his spontaneous challenge. Divining his intent, the little man quickly claimed the seat across from him and proffered his hand.

Bereft of a graceful exit, Beckett inwardly shrugged and placed his hand around the other's delicate digits, noticing in a detached way that his hand easily engulfed the man's tiny extremity. The crowd hovered in an almost palpable tension. Struggling to overcome the vague sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, he focused his attention on the man across the table.

Searching for something to say before the highly amused Navarre gave the signal to start the strange contest, he finally managed, "Good luck." The other grinned in response as Navarre lowered his hand. Not wishing to make too much of a fool of the little man in front of such a large number of people, Beckett pushed with barely enough strength to counter a four-year-old child.

Thus he was completely surprised when he not only met no resistance, but his hand followed through in its motion and swung off the table, coming to a rest at his side. He gaped, staring at the man who sat smirking across from him. Confused, he looked as his hand and abruptly realized that he still gripped someone else's hand, still attached to someone else's arm. But the arm…

An awed silence fell over the room as Beckett gaped at the empty shoulder socket of his opponent, looked at the arm in his grasp, and majestically fainted dead away.

Hiran Firrg, head flap practically shivering from his skull with delight, casually stood up and, to the accompaniment of complete stillness, ambled over to the fallen Elite's side, where he nonchalantly retrieved his missing limb. Straightening, he placed it against his shoulder and pushed, producing an audible 'snap' that resounded eerily loud throughout the large room. Then, placing his right foot on the chest of the unconscious Beckett and raising his hands over his head, he chirped, "I am the champion, yes?"

The crowd burst into a roar of amused approval, surrounding the Revnik. Two buff ensigns lifted Firrg to their shoulders and carried him off towards the bar, the rest following in a cheering parade. Beckett remained oblivious as Killian and Deanna arrived and proceeded to question the guffawing Navarre about recent events.

* * *

><p>"…and that's when everyone started cheering?" Killian inquired.<p>

Navarre, finally calm enough to relay the tale, nodded. "They just put the Ambassador on their shoulders and marched off for a victory drink, sir."

At that moment Beckett moaned and stirred. "The horror, the horror," he mumbled, so quietly that Deanna wasn't sure she heard him correctly. She repressed the urge to laugh at the unlikely story, though Killian had shown a hint of amusement only at the Revnik's choice of words as he claimed victory.

The Elite Commander regarded Beckett dispassionately for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders minutely. "I hope he learns a lesson from this."

"Which lesson, Commander?" Troi asked quietly, perceiving the solemnity behind the statement.

Glancing at the wiry Revnik and his surrounding ring of well-wishers, Killian murmured, "That appearances aren't always deceiving." Abruptly his glittering gaze turned towards Troi herself, and a chill ran through her as she realized that the statement was as much an answer to her question as a warning. Shivering slightly, she hurried to the bar to rejoin the Ambassadors, feeling the warrior's cold gaze upon her retreating back.

* * *

><p>Trenata glanced around the room as she walked in, <em>feeling<em> as well as seeing it. With her arrival, the entire ambassadorial team was now present, matched in number by the representatives of the senior officers. Captain Picard sat in his place at the head of the table, Commander Riker on his right and Ju-galrianmei on his left. She sat next to her friend, across from Counselor Troi, who calmly nodded greetings. Firrg and Johnson sat lower on the table, with Lieutenant Commander Data seated opposite Picard.

Her wardrobe, carefully selected to mark her as professional and competent, also reflected the serious nature of this meeting, the final one before entering Imperial territory. Ju-galrianmei surreptitiously squeezed her hand in greeting, though the flash of happiness at her presence showed clearly to the empathic abilities in which he was placing so much faith on this mission. She shivered inwardly; the near future held delicate maneuvering through tentative alliances delicate as bubbles and as irreparable once broken. She again desperately hoped that the Deltan's trust in her was not misplaced.

Acknowledging the various types of greetings given her by the others in the room, she found her attention turning to Data, the pale-eyed android. A flash of heat, the taint of the Orion heritage she kept under strict control, ran through her as she considered him. She had finally gathered enough courage to approach him and request a duet. Their studio had been her quarters, where they had played a duet of marvelous depth and nuance.

They made beautiful music together.

Captain Picard cleared his throat, and she mentally kicked herself. _Here I am, in the most important meeting so far on our journey, and I'm mooning over fascinating green skin and musical technique!_ Firmly reining in her thoughts (and avoiding the knowing glances cast her way by Counselor Troi), she fiercely focused her attention onto the man at the head of the table.

"We arrive at the border tomorrow." A chorus of nods greeted this statement. "Not all of you have been inside Romulan territory." Data stirred slightly, and Trenata remembered that he had been the one to accompany Picard on their famous journey to Romulus in pursuit of Ambassador Spock. Her estimation of him rose a notch. "And each of us, I assume, carries different expectations of the people within that territory. However, to business." He consulted the display before him. "We have received the final details of our first meeting with the Romulan representatives after we arrive at the border." He nodded at Riker.

"The Romulans will have two warbirds waiting to escort us to Romulus," Riker stated. His manner – forthright, direct, and with no hidden meanings – demonstrated his self-confidence. The slight edge of cockiness in his attitude indicated that this man would one day be a formidable force in the Starfleet High Command. "Before we enter Romulan territory proper, they will beam over three envoys with two bodyguards each.

Trenata felt a wave a relief wash over her. The delegation team had been debating the matter heatedly. Had the Romulans sent only one guard per guest, it would mean that the 'representatives' were either expendable or secure in the knowledge of clandestine backup, possibly in the form of additional cloaked ships. Three or more would have indicated a distinct lack of trust or burgeoning hostility that would prove difficult to overcome in the official negotiations. Two, however, implied a modicum of faith in the proceedings, and a willingness to rely on the trustworthiness of Starfleet's representatives.

She shook herself to attention as Riker continued. "During the journey to Romulus, constant contact with the escort ships will be maintained. The talks will begin upon our arrival at Romulus itself."

Johnson leaned forward, blue eyes intent. "Will our guests possess authority to indulge in some preliminary negotiations?"

"Yes, Ambassador Johnson," replied Data. _His voice has such a lovely timbre,_ she mused. "In fact, from my understanding, at least one of our guests will be a member of the Senate itself."

"Truly?" said Johnson. "Excellent. Hopefully that means I won't get bored." He contemplated the android with a speculative expression for a moment. Abruptly his face settled into several severe lines, as if he had just remembered something vitally important. "Ladies and gentlemen, I fear we have overlooked something quite serious."

Alarmed at his tragic expression, Trenata blurted before thought, "What?"

"How are we going to entertain our good guests on the journey to Romulus?" He turned and stared at Trenata, then shifted his glance to Data and back.

"How, indeed?" murmured Ju-galrianmei as Trenata blushed furiously at his smooth amusement.

Without needing any further prompting than that, Data, ignorant of the sly glances around him, suggested, "Ambassador Trenata is quite skilled with the violin, and we have already performed some pieces together. Perhaps a violin concert could be arranged."

"What a marvelous idea, Data," trilled Deanna Troi. "I expect you'd want to practice together extensively to ensure a complete repertoire." Trenata noticed with embarrassment that even Picard seemed to be chuckling at a private joke. Had she been wearing her heart on her damned _sleeve?_

"Of course, Ambassador, I would not want to impose on your time," he said, oblivious to the hidden amusement around them as he met her gaze.

_And miss a chance to admire your emerald glory? Not a chance,_ she thought. "Actually, Commander, I have always considered music to be quite soothing. It may help steady my nerves during the remainder of the voyage."

"A most excellent recommendation, Mr. Data," Picard stated, ending discussion on the matter. "Be sure to meet with the Ambassador frequently to allow ample time to perfect your technique."

"Naturally, sir," Data assured him. Trenata felt Ju-galrianmei laugh mentally, in that small pocket of his mind that only she could sense. She turned her back on him.

* * *

><p>The final strains of Mozart's <em>Sonata for Two Violins<em> hung in the air, glistening, then slowly died away, leaving that strange moment when the echoes of harmonies deny completion to the ear, and the soul loses itself to find the moment between sound and silence. The performers, almost as one, slowly lowered their bows to their sides. They sat opposite each other, neither needing to refer to the music displayed on the monitor before them; both had closed their eyes in the ecstasy of the moment.

Data opened his eyes first, surprised that he had closed him. As an android, he technically did not need such concentration techniques – his muscles moved as he bade them, and never suffered from the fatigue or stress that afflicted organic performers. Indeed, when he practiced alone or on the holodeck, he kept his eyes fixed on the music, even though his positronic brain assured him a photographic memory that could recall anything instantly and perfectly.

This time, though… The strings had sung a new perfection all their own, and the bow had glided with supreme grace over the strings.

"Fascinating," he heard himself say.

The Ambassador opened her eyes with surprised abruptness. Recovering quickly, she smiled at him. Although he did not count himself an authority on beauty in others, he deemed that expression quite lovely. She sighed and put her violin and bow on the table beside her. "What was so fascinating, Commander Data?"

"I have never felt this close to interpretational perfection before, Ambassador Trenata. I—"

She interrupted him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Since we are now partners in music, why don't we call each other by name?"

He blinked, an observed reaction. "You wish me to call you Trenatavoalliantantina Terristinata?"

Startled, she said, "Even my father can't say my full name! No, Data, call me Trenata."

"Very well, Trenata," he said, testing the shape of it. "I shall strive to remember."

"Somehow I doubt you'll forget." She began massaging her chording hand. "Now, what were you saying?"

"I have never experienced anything similar to this performance in music before. After we completed the piece, I attempted to discern the difference and determined that even though I have played with other musicians in the past, I have not done so after the installation of my emotion chip." He paused, considering her action. "Does your hand pain you?"

She shrugged slightly. "A little. I must be more out of practice than I thought."

Data offered a hand. "I have access to over three hundred techniques of message for muscle relaxation. Would it be acceptable for me to attempt to alleviate your aches?"

A subtle shift in her lips proved unfathomable for him to interpret. "As you wish."

He closed his hands around hers and probed the muscles gently, his databanks telling him precisely which would ache and how to lessen the pain. As his fingers over her palm, she inquired softly, "What is this emotion chip?"

Without looking up, Data replied, "A chip designed by my creator, Dr. Noonian Soong, which allows me to feel emotion. For the greater part of my existence I had no knowledge of it, but strove to experience emotion anyway." He turned her hand over as he continued. "Then and now, humans fascinate me with their emotions. Then, I did not understand how they could allow their feelings to affect their logic or ability to reason."

Trenata leaned slightly closer. "And do you now, Data?" she asked in a soft tone.

Inexplicably unsettled, Data released her hand. To distract himself from the abrupt uneasiness, he pontificated. "Emotions are like nothing I have experienced before. Each new emotion I perceive seems to open an aspect of myself that I never knew existed, and each discovery explains more about the people I work with. I am observing, however, that my emotion chip requires a very different type of control than my other faculties, and I find there are moments when an emotion becomes too powerful." Data stopped, intent. "Many times in my studies of emotion, I have been informed that hate and love are the two strongest emotions, but I have yet to understand this."

"Oh?" Trenata inquired, her head cocking to one side. Her hair flowed over a shoulder in a wash of gold, and the uneasy sensation moved to the pit of his stomach. "Have you experienced either of them yet?"

"I have experienced hate," he said, explaining his reaction to an absolutely loathsome drink imbibed shortly after the initial installation of his chip. Gleeful at his strong emotional reaction to the drink, he had asked for seconds of the vile liquid just to continue reveling in the sweet sensation of emotion.

Trenata laughed at the conclusion of the story. "It certainly sounds like you loved hating that drink."

Puzzled, Data worked his way through her statement. "I must confess your words seem to contain a contradiction."

Her expression sobered. She looked away from him, and Data found his gaze lingering on the hollow of her throat. _This is ridiculous!_ he scolded himself, but did not move his gaze. "Have you ever noticed, Data, that some people hate so strongly, so powerfully, that they will sacrifice anything so long as they can savor that hate?"

Data stirred as uneasy memories moved through his mind: the Romulan that had perished because he would not accept the aid of Worf, a Klingon; the man who had given Picard a son, who later was revealed as part of plot to destroy the Captain; the implacable need for vengeance that had nearly destroyed an entire community of eternal youth. "I could not have stated it so eloquently, but it is true that I have seen this peculiarity. However, my knowledge of emotions up to this point is not extensive enough for me to have analyzed that particular phenomenon thoroughly."

She turned to look at him. "Data," she said sadly, "I fear that when we reach Romulus you will find many who treasure their hate far more than their love. The reason those feelings are considered paramount is because many people use them to make decisions between life and death."

He cocked his head. "I do not understand, Trenata."

She inhaled deeply as she threw her head back in thought. The odd sensation returned to plague Data's stomach. "Have you ever read _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"The complete works of Shakespeare are in my databanks."

Regarding him for a moment, she said, "Consider the story, then. The characters within willingly choose to die for love and hate, though without their passion they may well have lived a long life. Contemplate the meanings behind their decisions."

"I shall do so, Trenata." An internal warning sounded. "I am afraid that we have run out of—"

A beep echoed in the room, followed by Ju-galrianmei's voice. "Trenata, please come to Ten-Forward as you may."

She sighed, then replied, "Acknowledged, sir. I'm on my way." Straightening, she crisply, "Duty calls, Commander." Data found to his surprise that he felt intense disappointment. "Shall we meet tonight?" she suggested, eyes wide. "Perhaps at 2000 hours?"

"I would…enjoy practicing more, Trenata." He retrieved his violin and stowed it carefully in its case. As he strode toward the door, he heard a voice call out, "Don't forget tonight!"

"I do not forget, Trenata," he stated confidently.

As the door hissed shut behind him, Trenata leaned against the nearest wall and allowed herself a triumphant little smile. "Ah, the sweet, sweet scent of victory."

Not letting herself dwell overly much on victory, she quickly replaced her own violin and snapped the case shut. Straightening, she bound her hair into a sever braid and secured the end. Rechecking her coiffure, she nodded in satisfaction and left, forging a path to Ten-Forward.

* * *

><p>Maximillian Brent arrived at the Holodeck precisely on schedule. He was dressed in loose clothing, believing Killian's assurance that the exercise program would challenge even him. Shifting his shoulders slightly, he felt tight muscles twitch in anticipation. They were going to establish contact the Romulan escort within a matter of hours, and the tension on the ship moved towards a breaking point. He desperately hoped this program proved to be as good as Killian claimed; he suddenly felt a burning desire to hit something.<p>

Entering the Holodeck, he found the standard large grid of blackness. Despite the stark bareness of the room, he didn't see Data until after he heard him.

"Greetings, sir," came a voice from behind him. Fixing a lopsided grin on his face, he turned to face the android.

"Greetings, sir," he echoed. "I trust you're well?"

Data cocked his head. "I am fully functional at the moment, sir. May I inquire after your own health?"

Brent paused, then shrugged. "I want to smash something that's a hell of a lot bigger than I am."

Data only nodded politely. "That can be arranged. Computer: begin program, level 1."

Brent dropped into a crouch as a large, gloomy forest appeared out of nowhere. "Nice ambiance."

"Commander Worf once informed me that these forests are derived from an ancient Klingon training camp for adolescents," the android said dispassionately.

"This is where they train their kids, huh?" He sharpened his readiness as he saw movement in the shadows. "No wonder they're such a warrior race."

Then they had not time to talk as three creatures attacked them from as many directions.

Brent threw himself forward at the one before him, aiming for its legs. He hit it with sufficient strength to put it off balance without knocking it over. As the second monster flew over his head in an attack meant to down Brent, it careened into the first one, felling both. He heard a grunt behind him as the creature assailing Data toppled onto the ground. Quickly dispatching the two in front of him with quick motions that broke their necks, he noted with satisfaction that the bodies didn't disappear as they did in the training modules he to which he was accustomed. "Nice realism. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the worst enemy when fighting can be the enemy you've already defeated." The foliage rustled. "More come," he grated, reveling in the blood lust that rose within.

Suddenly four more ominous shadows dropped from the trees. As Brent found himself confronted with glittering red eyes and saliva slicked jaws filled with oversized teeth, he felt his muscles truly begin to relax. "I _like_ it!" he exclaimed excitedly as he launched himself into the fray. He felt a surge of savage joy spread through his body. This was what he lived for: no rules, no regulations, no holding back! He could glory in the felling of his enemies, feel their hot blood flow over his hands, stare into their eyes as they died while roaring in triumph that he still lived!

By the time they reached Level Nine, he'd completely forgotten that he'd ever loathed anyone but the enemy he now fought.

* * *

><p>"I thank you for meeting with me here, Captain."<p>

Picard smiled slightly. "I seem to recall the Admiral ordering my immediate and perpetual availability to you in all things, Ambassador," he responded as they took seats opposite each other around the cozy tables in Ten-Forward. "If I may inquire, however: why here? Would not a conference room have been more appropriate?"

A sad smile graced the Deltan's lips. "Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that conversational privacy in certain parts of the ships has been violated."

Picard stared at him incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Commander Killian has informed me of breaches of security in the conference room, the bridge, and the holodecks, and he suspects the private quarters." He held up an elegant hand to forestall Picard's protests. "He claims he has found no actual spies, just numerous equipment that were probably secreted on board before you left for Alcatraz Station. He delivered assurances shortly after the meeting that he has rendered Ten-Forward, and this table in particular, proof against such attempts without making it too obvious."

"How can he-?"

"Most of his time spent outside directly overseeing the Romulans is involved with anti-espionage, a private hobby of his, I believe. He is a formidable individual, which is why he was chosen to lead the Elite for this mission."

"Why did you not tell me of this earlier?" Picard demanded, fighting irritation.

"I couldn't without fearing that even a short explanation would be overheard. Killian and I have established secure methods of communication unusual in Starfleet." Noting that Picard seemed only slightly mollified, he added, "Please accept my assurances: I informed you as soon as I was sure that the mission would not be compromised. However," he said, briskly straightening in his seat, "that is not why I asked you here."

Picard blinked. "You have additional news?"

The Deltan cocked his head. "More of a request, Captain. Have you pondered why, after so many years of obstruction, the Empire acquiesced to these negotiations?"

"Of course, Ambassador, though the answer eludes me."

"One of our current Romulan guests is none other than Gakar, nephew to Proconsul Neral of Romulus." Ju-galrianmei chuckled at Picard's astonishment. "Although he was taken into custody a few months before hostilities with the Dominion forced the Alliance to form, we remained unaware of his identity until another Romulan captive informed Merak of his family connections."

Picard stared at Ju-galrianmei. "You mean the basis of this mission is blackmail of the proconsul?"

The Deltan delivered a reproving look to Picard. "Captain, that comment is beneath you. This mission is merely a long overdue prisoner exchange, nothing more. It's not our fault that Neral refused to initiate the trade until personally affected." He leaned closer to Picard and lowered his voice. "However, he had some additional stipulations. Only he and the leader of the envoys know of Gakar's presence aboard this ship. Capture by an enemy is considered political suicide in the Empire, particularly if escape is not the method of return to Imperial territory. Neral wishes a long, healthy career in politics for his nephew, and has requested that we keep his nephew's identity a secret."

"Why inform me, then?"

"The envoys will be granted full diplomatic courtesy. This implies a full tour of this vessel, including limited access to those within the brig. I ask that you allow Commander Killian to appoint one of his own to act as a guide for the Romulans rather than one of your own Security officers."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You ask me to place trust in an individual whose training and background are unknown to me."

"Essentially, that is precisely what I request," the Deltan murmured, unperturbed by the irregularity of his request. "This would allow the Elite to conceal Gakar's identity, as requested by Neral. The goodwill of the Proconsul is essential for the success of this mission, Captain, otherwise I would not ask for this leap of faith in a complete stranger's discretion and competence."

Picard considered what little he knew of Killian and those under his command, then reluctantly nodded. "As you wish, Ambassador, although I still feel uneasy." A sudden thought occurred to him. "I thank you for alerting me of this development. Some of my fellow Captains have at times complained of ambassadorial complicity to conceal important information 'for the sake of the mission.'"

Ju-galrianmei grimaced. "I must admit I considered that, Captain. Yet I found I could not play such games of subterfuge with a man of your obvious wit." Bemused, Picard nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment. "Now, if I may, I would invite Trenata to discuss the details that could not be discussed before."

Picard gestured vague permission, intently considering the Ambassador's recent revelations.

* * *

><p>Guinan glanced over at the door as it hissed open. Ambassador Trenata, green skin flashing palely in the light, entered and looked around. Catching her eye, Guinan inclined her head towards a table by the window where Captain Picard and Ju-galrianmei sat engrossed in quiet discussion. Nodding thanks, the Orion walked over and joined them.<p>

After fetching a drink for her, Guinan returned to polishing the surface of the bar. Suddenly realizing that she was pushing the cloth more firmly than usual, Guinan noticed that her shoulders felt tight. Forcing the muscles to relax, she put the dust cloth beneath the bar and turned her attention to filling the pitchers of water she had behind the counter, ready to be used should any large group suddenly appear. Her brow furrowed slightly as she remembered that large groups weren't all that common on this mission. Turning away from the pitchers, she started replenishing the containers of stirring sticks along the counter.

Few people attended Ten-Forward at this hour of the day. Between the morning and midday meals, most people returned to their duties or sought solitary relaxing recreational activities. None of the Elite were present – she knew that they would show up around dinner time, ready with a grin and a quip. She smiled resignedly, for she had, much to her surprise, found that she enjoyed the warriors' antics, despite their broiling minds and chaotic presence. All, that is, except for Killian – his stillness was almost eerie in a fighter. The only other accomplished fighter she had known who had achieved such complete self-possession had been an El Aurian, killed when the Borg had destroyed her home planet. She hadn't thought of him in years…

Sweeping her eyes over the room, she mentally counted up the heads. Fairly low – ten people, most here to converse in low voices, not drink. Besides the Captain and the Ambassadors, the others were all ensigns or non-officer crew members. One or two people were sitting alone, staring at the stars streaming past outside the window, a sight Guinan herself enjoyed in those rare moments when no one demanded her attention.

Today, however, a restlessness filled her fingers, and she couldn't find the serenity necessary to truly enjoy the stellar panorama. Laying her hands flat on the bar before her, she glared at them as if they had insulted her. The air on the ship felt tight, suffocating. Guinan had at first attributed it to the fact that they were arriving at the Neutral Zone within a matter of hours, but she noticed that Trenata did not seem to be suffering any ill effects from external emotional stress. Suddenly her head started pounding, and her mouth went dry. As she put a trembling hand to her temple, she thought, _Either I'm pregnant or…_

Her head jerked up.

_Oh, no. Not _them_._

At that instant, the storm that had hovered around the _Enterprise_ broke as someone came through the door without bothering to open it.


	6. Elsewhere 2

She opened her eyes, not knowing where she would find herself.

Her first sight was an artificial pond, twice as long as it was wide. Beautiful plants floated on its surface, each adorned by a single colorful flower that rose joyously from the center. No life stirred beneath the crystal face of the waters. The depth of the pond was infinite (_her mind measured its volume to the last molecule_), and the light refracted from its surface to create patterns of grandeur and simplicity.

Bemused, she stared at the pond for a span of time (_five hundred seventy heart beats, her mind absently noted_), striving to recall memories of the pond. Something was wrong, something was missing. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she delved into long-forgotten moments from her past.

_the colored scales of the fish rubbed against her pudgy toddler hands. "Hello, swimmer," she greeted it politely._

"_Hello, sunwalker," the fish responded, using the strange combination of nascent visual impressions and body movement that comprised the communication that seemed perfectly natural to her._

"_Is the water cool and healthy in this sun-time?"_

"_Feeding is plentiful. All is good," it responded, then lost interest and swam away. She tottered to her brother's side and waited for him to finish his own diversion_

The dim memory squirmed beneath her scrutiny, then scuttled away. Blinking, she searched the empty pond (_there should be fish, her mind whispered_) once more before turning away. Behind her, colorful scales reflected the light of the setting sun as the swimmers resumed their carefree play below the surface of the water.

Orienting her head to her right she saw a large expanse of plants that created a vibrant rainbow of color: green leaves twined with purple vines, golden petals flashed beneath orange fruit, and above them all, the sky in its indigo glory. (_was it night approaching, or was night only the dream of those who longed for sunrise? her mind murmured_) Spread throughout the garden of beauty were pillars, and on top of those pedestals resided something that made her heart leap.

Statues – statues of marble glimmering in the dying light. Without pause, she reached out and stroked the surface of the nearest one (_her mind dismissed the distance traveled instantaneously to get there_) Its slick surface touched memories deep within her, compelling an answer. The colors, orange and white, swirled together, forming a collage of colors that enchanted her eyes and pulled at her soul, and then she _remembered_

_the feel of it in her hand_ (so small at the time) _and the heaviness of it. She remembered the laughter that had filled the air as they realized that the statue was nothing more than molecules and subatomic particles they commanded with a whim. She remembered them playing for hours, tossing it back and forth between them…_

She wrenched herself from the memories to find herself holding onto the statue for support. As she struggled upright, it fell off the pedestal and shattered on the ground. She stared at it in wonder, marveling at its weight and solidity, realizing that these notions were but illusion to such as she. _What am I?_ (_her mind shied from the answer_) She had only been three years old.

_their favorite toy…_

Her head swiveled to the left, and there she saw the house. White pillars rose to support a roof covered with chaotic blackness. (_it should be covered with red wood, her mind whispered, and made it so_). The windows were broken and scarred, allowing the wind to flutter freely through the house. (_there should be blue curtains, her mind decided, and so it was_) The door was boarded up, and a sign that meant evil and cursed was nailed upon the outmost board. (_her mind cried the lie, and dismissed the sign to oblivion_) She stared at her home, the place where she had been conceived and born, where her father had…

_Had what? her mind taunted her_

She walked into the house (_her mind ignored the door_), not noticing the thought that reached back, reformed the statue, and placed its flawless form again on the pedestal. Glancing around, her eyes took in the ceiling that vaulted into empty heights (_chandeliers should dance there,_ and they did). The scattered furniture pieces were old and decrepit structures starting to collapse (_beautiful ebony furniture should fill the place with comfort,_ and they did) She turned around slowly as the room responded to her mind's reshaping of it to fit the past when…

_when what?_

A moan broke through the silence. Orienting her head, she ascertained that the source stemmed from the other side of the huge house, and decided to be there (_and she was_). Once in the room, she saw the bed filling the dark corner opposite the door and decided to be next to it (_her shin touched its side_). Looking down, she saw an emaciated figure lying motionless in the bed, stillness gripping its torso. Kneeling on the floor, she reached out a hand and touched the long-inert face. As she made contact, the head moved jerkily.

"Lady?" an empty voice wailed. "Is it you, returned?"

"I…I am not sure," she said truthfully as her hand passed over the figure's features.

"Ah, lady, you taste of old blood! Lady, you were so clean…"

"Yes, I was." She thought of her arm, how it had once been the color of white marble (_starlight lived in her skin_). A cloud of accumulated sweat, dirt, blood, and urine suddenly lifted from her body and disappeared. "I am," she said to the form on the bed.

It sighed and turned its head to face her. Vacant sockets stared from the nearly fleshless face, Romulan features twisted into a permanent rictus of pain. "I tried to stop them, lady. They took the little ones away…"

"I forgive you, Kavis." Yes, that had been her name in life.

"But Merak, my lady, and sweet little Adara – what shall become of them in the hands of such as those bastards?" The form coughed wretchedly in the memory of its death throes. "Ah, lady, he said you wouldn't return, that you were already dead. But I knew you would." Before she could who _he_ was, the corpse said, "Lady, if only I could tell you all…"

_and she knew all_

Adara stood up. The contents of the bed did not bother her – the cadaver of the dead servant had served its purpose.

_Kavis had died on a Romulan knife twenty years past, protecting the children of her dead mistress_

Adara knew that _he_ was her father, a being of great power

_at the other end of the universe, those who opposed_ him _felt the awakening of a power like unto his own_

and relentless enemies

_and they knew that revenge would soon be theirs_

who would not rest until her father

_too powerful to attack directly, but this girl, his child, would suit their purposes well enough_

and his children were obliterated from all reality.

Adara returned to the garden (_walking was pointless, her mind decided_) and sat upon the ground. The ragged tunic of coarse synthetic that had been her only covering for years suddenly irritated her; she fancied it to be silk (_green, like her mother had worn whenever_ he_ came_) and relaxed into its soothing embrace. Her thoughts gravitated on the messages that had been left for her to decipher. Obviously, the first had been her brother (_Merak, her heart, her other self_) who had given her the comprehension of what she was not. The second she assumed to be that which she had just unraveled: poor Kavis, granted just enough time to help define what she had been. Adara knew the picture to be incomplete, for nothing yet explained what she was _now_. Suddenly a flicker of the dream danced before her eyes

_an aura entered her memory, and a face – a woman, skin and hair like ebony, joy filling her dark eyes_

and she decided that she must find the woman Merak had shown her.

Abruptly a warning blazed through her mind and, without hesitation, she flung herself flat. A bolt of sickly green energy crackled over her head and struck the statue, sending marble shards flying. Twisting around, Adara discovered a man (_no Romulan, nor any being she had ever seen_) standing behind her. He was tall and muscular, with the features of a human (_and stars in his eyes_). His blond hair rippled in the wind as he fixed a glare of unadulterated contempt upon Adara.

"So," he snarled, "_he_ spawned pups on a mortal, did her? How dare he such _insolence_!" Another bolt appeared in his hands and sped towards her (_fear tickled her as she realized that it would obliterate her very existence_), and only unmitigated terror jerked her from its path.

The man laughed. "Oh, you were fun in the hunt, my dear. Your father protected your brother, but left you completely to our disposal. That lovely prison gave us years of entertainment with little expense on our part." Scorn textured his voice. "Those craven mortal fools thought _they_ were the ones to invent that lovely collar. Pathetic creatures!"

The killing strike, the one that wouldn't miss, formed in his grip. "You escaped too early, darling. We were about ready to kill you and end your misery once and for all." Laughing harshly, he continued the tirade. "The others warned me not to act rashly, but killing you directly obviously won't endanger me." He eyes narrowed, and a nasty grin split his face. "You don't even know what you are, do you? Such a pity that your immediate death is necessary: I do so _love_ education."

He raised his hands, enjoying the fear in her eyes. Adara crawled away from him, mind shaking with shock. Her hand found a ragged chunk of tortured marble and clutched the useless shard convulsively to her chest. The hope, so recently rekindled within her, collapsed upon itself. Her mind took flight, seeking escape.

_and her questing psyche found the aura_

The bolt found its mark, and pain enveloped her. Cudgeling her mind to employ the discipline of twenty years of torture, she pushed the pain below her awareness. Desperate, she pulled herself toward the sparkling joy of the aura.

As she disappeared, her erstwhile assailant cursed as he discovered to his consternation that raw power could sustain his rage only a short distance through the cold reaches of space, for the girl's destination lay deep within the stars. Swearing virulently, he followed, vengeance burning in his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 4

Adara felt the bolt strike her side and instinctively curled painfully into a fetal position. As her body transferred between _there_ and _here_, she let it fly in a controlled tumble through the air until she felt herself strike something solid. Releasing her legs, she staggered up, trying to ignore the pain that lanced through her. She whipped her gaze around, frantically attempting to discern her surroundings.

Around her loomed a jungle of trees carved from screams of agony. A rank wind blew through the air, carrying death and despair upon it. Adara shivered, recalling the prison with an uncontrollable grimace. The ground beneath her feet felt odd, as if something had constructed it with limited tools. In fact, although her eyes saw uneven dirt with rocks placed sporadically, her mind saw a large black surface covered with a grid of glowing lines. Confused, she moved a foot back and forth, feeling the dirt between her toes (_the slick surface was cool beneath her instep_). A call of challenge from behind her caused her to whirl in a half-circle, marble shard raised half-heartedly in defense.

A tall figure with a horrible scar on the left side of his face stood close. (_human, her mind whispered_) He wore loose clothing, drenched in sweat. As she faced him, he blinked in surprise. "A female Romulan, Commander? An odd thing to program into such an advanced level." A calculating gaze broke onto his face. "Well, maybe there's more to her than we can see." With no further words, he lunged at her.

Without thinking, Adara moved to a spot ten meters beyond him, then whirled to watch the man land sprawling on the ground. He stood, sputtering, "I thought this simulation only had realistic enemies!"

A sound caused her to turn to her right, where another man (_not a man, a machine with a soul_) stood scrutinizing her with unblinking eyes. He did not attack, but seemed to be pondering her sudden appearance. "It does," he said quietly. After a short pause, he continued, "Computer, end program."

Around them the forest vanished. She saw the human's eyes widen in astonishment when she failed to disappear with the scenery. Confused, she didn't move save to bring the marble shard up in a defensive posture, gulping air into her lungs and barely noticing the liquid trickle on her side that slowly saturated her clothes.

"She's real!" he gasped.

The man-machine tapped something on his chest. "Data to security. Intruder on Holodeck Four. Dispatch two teams." Then, no further warning given, he launched himself at her in a sudden attack.

Adara, reluctant to cause either of them harm, rendered herself insubstantial, allowing him to fly through her. He somersaulted to his feet, no surprise evident on his face, and prepared to try again.

_Suddenly every sense rang, and she knew her true enemy was about to arrive._

Terrified, she located the door and put herself beyond it. In the room behind her, a short, shrill scream punctuated the air. Paling, weakened by the continuous loss of blood, she started to stagger down the corridor. Abruptly ten figures with grim expressions appeared before her, each pointing a small metal object at her. One, a brown haired woman with two round metal objects attached to her uniform's collar, stepped forward cautiously. "Stop right there, Romulan," she demanded, aim steady, "or we'll fire."

Adara's mind whirled in confusion. What had gotten herself into? She had been searching for

_the aura suddenly beckoned_

Reacting instinctively, she turned around and ran away from the humans, ignored the blasts that surrounded her, shrugging off the two that struck her in the back.

_the aura summoned her_

* * *

><p>Behind her, Lieutenant Birge watched in utter disbelief as the Romulan was struck twice without apparent effect and continued out of sight around the bend of the corridor. Barking hasty orders, she began pursuit when the door to the holodeck opened, allowing egress to a blond stranger. Seeing her, his lip twisted into a sneer. "Where is she?"<p>

Surprised enough to halt her forward movement, Birge managed, "Who?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. "Don't play games with me, mortal. _Where is she_?" Thoroughly mystified, she stared at him in silence. "If that's all the help you're going to be, you can remain silent," he snarled, then took off running down the corridor in the same direction the Romulan had gone.

Birge opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but no sound emerged. Puzzled, she turned to the security personnel behind her and tried to order them after the intruder. Silence issued from her throat.

Suddenly Commander Data emerged from the holodeck, clutching at an arm that dripped a greenish fluid – _his blood,_ Birge realized abruptly. Seeing her, he said calmly, "Lieutenant, wait here for the medical team I summoned. The rest of you, follow me." Not pausing in his stride, he pursued the blond stranger.

Birge ran into the holodeck, saw its contents, and tried to scream.

* * *

><p>Adara's mind dragged her feet to a halt in front of the door; the aura blazed brightly from the other side. Without pausing, she darted through the door (<em>no time to wait for it to open<em>) to find herself in an expansive chamber. A huge window on one side showed streaks of light that she realized must be stars. (_Stars_, part of her cried. _I'm in space?_) Momentum carried her body further into the room, and she noticed through a haze of pain that her entrance had caused a great deal of commotion.

People dressed in clothes similar to those worn by the humans in the corridor quickly interposed themselves between her and a man with black skin and light hair. A woman with slightly greenish skin stared at her, face a mask of perplexity. Ignoring them, she arced her gaze through her surroundings until she saw _her_, standing behind a waist-high barrier near the back of the room. She started moving towards the woman, mouth forming the word she knew must be uttered, when another alarm flew through her mind. She flung herself at the floor and rolled to one side.

A scintillating energy beam scored the carpet where she had been moments ago. Behind her, the enemy screamed in fury, "You cursed _bitch!_ Stay _still_ and let me _kill_ you!" He raised his glowing hands, and Adara fixed her gaze on the small area behind the man and placed herself there. Standing quickly, she leapt at his back and wrapped her right arm around his neck. She felt him begin to _shift_, and grabbed control of his form and forced him to remain human.

Roaring wrathfully, the figure grabbed her arm, trying to dislodge her. His efforts carried them through the room as she clung to his back like a burr. Neither of them noticed the tables and chairs they smashed in their struggles, and paid even less heed to the people throwing themselves out of their path. As they wended their vicarious way through the chamber, she felt her grip begin to loosen, strain causing her hands to sweat. Abruptly recalling the marble in her left hand, she tried to angle it into a striking position.

As she did so, her mental leash on his abilities slipped slightly. Adara found herself flung across the room like a feather, hitting the large window with a sickening thud. The impact sent a raging river of torment through her side. She was dimly aware of the woman she sought running towards them. Her eyes watched the being before her stalk to where she lay, body wracked with agony.

"Your effrontery has only assured you a lingering death, girl. I was willing to let you die quickly before, but now… I'm going to take great pleasure in this." He stretched one hand, burning with all the eternal flames of Remus, towards her. Adara tried to flinch back, but found the window prevented any retreat for her exhausted body. She felt something inside give up.

Abruptly something smashed into the being's head, splashing water over him like blood. Adara realized that the woman – _her aura brilliant as a proud star_ – had broken a pitcher over his head. He whirled to face her, bellowing, "How dare you-!"

Anger coursed through Adara's body, adrenaline lending her body the energy it needed. Tightening her grip on the marble (_and_ changing _it so it would kill even the most powerful enemy_), she forced her body upright and hurled herself at the turned back, knowing that this distraction was her last hope. Even as he realized his mistake and twisted to face the attack, her modified weapon swung around and struck him on the temple, even as her mind snared control of his corporeal shape once more.

The double impact of the weapon and the vulnerability forced upon him through his human form slammed into the Q at the same time, and he died, toppling like a felled log.

Silence tentatively reigned the room, broken only by scattered coughs and jagged breathing.

Before anyone else could move, Adara cast aside the marble, threw herself on her knees before the woman, and screamed, "_Sabvasa!_"

* * *

><p>Guinan staggered back, hands raised before her face as unadulterated shock washed through her. <em>Sabvasa<em> – it was the most sacred of obligations, the most holy of duties, the reason why El Aurians had been able to defend themselves against the Q Continuum for eons. Although no being had required it for over two hundred thousand years, its legacy was so strong that she had been instructed in its ancient secrets before the destruction of El Aur. Presented with an impossibility, her instincts cried for her to deny the other's need.

Then she met the Romulan's gaze.

In an instant, Guinan beheld a lifetime of torture and misery spent within the cruel walls of captivity around her mind, limited in freedom and awareness. Guinan mentally recoiled at the collage of memories in the girl's past. Suddenly the face of an older man, face hauntingly familiar, appeared before her, eternity in his green eyes._ "Please," _he implored._ "She is my own." _Her heart skipped a beat in awe as she realized whose child knelt in supplication before her.

With that realization, she held out her hands to the Romulan.

Suddenly a strong voice spoke from behind her.

"Guinan, step back," Picard ordered. "Mr. Data, at your discretion." Turning around, she saw that the android had entered Ten-Forward, accompanied by nine security officers.

"Yes, sir," Data replied.

Shaking her head, she only peripherally noticed Picard's astonishment as she grasped the girl's hands into her own.

"Guinan," he snapped impatiently, "please—"

She whirled to face him, placing an arm protectively around the girl. "No, Jean-Luc," she said in a tone that from anyone else would have seemed only slightly petulant, but from her mouth seemed a scream of rage. "I refuse."

Complete silence now descended upon Ten-Forward. Picard stared at her in disbelief, for she, who had never spoken a harsh word, had never called Picard anything but Captain except in private and usually not even then, had peremptorily cast off the role of quiet observer and assumed a different, far more disquieting one.

In the stunned silence that followed, Guinan cupped the Romulan's chin in her hands. "You are now _sabvasan_." Placing her hands on the girl's temples, Guinan quailed slightly as she felt the other's raw power flood through her. Quickly shrugging that feeling aside, she wove the power into the requisite protections of the _sabvasan_. During the process, she noticed the Romulan's injury, a deep gash in her left side that had already drenched most of her dress a dull emerald.

She scrutinized the girl, noticing the height – she topped Guinan by several centimeters – and the frailty of an underfed body. Her hair, a dark stream of midnight, flowed unfettered from head to knee. As her protections fell into place around them both, the Romulan began trembling in reaction to physical exhaustion and loss of blood.

Guinan turned to Picard. "She won't hurt you."

With a tentative advance that spoke volumes of Picard's conflict between his trust of Guinan and any potential danger to his ship, he stepped forward. "What is your name?" he inquired gently, as if speaking to a frightened animal.

"Adara," the Romulan answered, gasping slightly.

Picard examined her again, and visibly his suspicion began to diminish. "Why are you here?"

"_Sabvasa_," replied Guinan. "An ancient protection from harm, Captain." He opened his mouth, but she interrupted him. "Captain, time is of the essence. Shortly we will be receiving unwelcome visitors. I suggest you vacate this room." A flash of quickly suppressed fear for his safety shook her voice. "I believe I could protect you, should you choose to remain."

Picard hesitated, then asked, "Would it be prudent to summon medical assistance for your guest?" At Guinan's gesture of acquiescence, he nodded at Data. "Mr. Data, see to it." Fixing his gaze on the milling crowd around them, he added in a brusque tone of command, "Evacuate the room. Security, establish a sentry outside Ten-Forward until further notice."

Data rubbed at his injury, staring at the corpse on the floor. "Sir, permission to thank Adara for her bravery."

Picard blinked in surprise. "For what purpose, Mr. Data?"

Data turned his gaze to Picard, and Guinan saw her old friend flinch visibly at the glare of utter hatred reflected in the android's lambent gaze. "Some actions are unforgivable, sir." With no further explanation, Data turned and barked orders to the surrounding security personnel. Guinan peripherally saw the apprehensive awe of those around him, and realized that they had never seen such a Klingonic display of negative emotion from the science officer. She noticed the deep speculation on Ambassador Trenata's face as the team obeyed Picard's orders.

Suddenly Riker's voice came over the comm. "Bridge to Captain Picard."

"Picard here."

"Captain, the helm detected a vast energy disturbance in Ten-Forward. Will any assistance be required?"

"No, Number One," he replied, taking in the chaos around them. The chairs, scattered everywhere by the titanic struggle, lay haphazardly around them. The broken glass from the tables and drinking containers covered the floor, glittering as if in pain. Adara's green blood streaked across the huge window, and the man's corpse, lying untouched on the floor, oozed fluids that shone eerily in the subdued illumination. "Picard out."

The far door hissed open, admitting Crusher. She hesitated as she noticed the condition of the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the body, and her jaw dropped when she saw Adara, who by now leaned listlessly against Guinan. "Captain, what happened? Who is this?"

Guinan answered, "A victim, Beverly. Please help her."

Asking no further questions, the doctor stepped forward and gently took the Romulan's other arm. Picard snagged a chair and righted it before them, receiving a nod of thanks from Guinan as they settled Adara into its embrace. Crusher immediately opened her medi-kit and began removing various implements. "I'll do my best, Guinan, but her injuries are quite serious, and there's so much we still don't know about Romulan physiology…" Her voice trailed off.

Guinan placed a reassuring hand on Crusher's shoulder. Softly, she said, "She just needs a little help, Doctor, not a miracle."

"What about him?" Picard demanded, indicating the sprawled corpse.

Guinan glanced at the body, expression callously indifferent. "I doubt very much, Captain, that our limited technology could aid him, if indeed he would even have acknowledged it."

"What do you mean?" Now irritation at her evasion began to show in his voice.

Guinan finally met his gaze. "He was a Q."

Stunned, prepared for anything except for that, he gasped, "Not _him_?"

Shaking her head, Guinan replied, "The Continuum is infinite, Captain, if the number of a race can be considered infinite. It was not an entity you personally knew."

"But—but she killed him!"

Guinan shifted uneasily. "Yes."

"How-?" Picard paused, and Guinan knew that he was remembering the only time he had seen a Q slain through force: when he had personally helped Q destroy the highly unbalanced Trelane, Squire of Gothos. "I thought only another member of the Continuum had sufficient power to…" He jerked in an unpleasant double take. "Is _she_-?"

"Yes and no, Captain. She—" She stiffened. Time had run out.

"She is a _mistake_." The harsh words rang through the decimated room, causing Picard to whirl to confront the source. In the previously empty center of the room stood five figures, none of them familiar to her. The arrogance of their posture, however, and the strange hint of starlight sparkling in their eyes marked them as members of the Q Continuum.

Even as Guinan signaled Crusher to continue her ministrations, Picard demanded, "And you are?"

A glare that possessed more density than a black hole bored into his face as the being closest to him said, "Don't play with us, mortal. Your thoughts betray you." His eyes narrowed as he examined Picard. Meanwhile, Guinan analyzed them, searching for weaknesses.

The leader shifted his gaze to Guinan. "Well, well, well. An El Aurian. I thought your kind safely extinct." Refusing to rise to the bait, Guinan merely returned his contemptuous gaze with (she hoped) ageless serenity. As he settled into a wary posture across from her, the four other individuals flanked him. "No matter, El Aurian. The mongrel is a mistake. She should never have been allowed to taste life." A vicious hatred flickered in his immortal eyes. "We have come to rectify the matter. Move, or it will not go well with you."

Guinan calmly returned the being's gaze and defiantly shook her head.

The other's face darkened dangerously. "Do you drive me to use my abilities against you? I thought your kind to possess more wisdom than that, El Aurian." The words became an epithet.

Guinan drew Adara to her feet in one smooth movement. "She is my _sabvasan_, Q."

A long indrawn breath answered her. "You presume much, whelp of a mortal race. Who is to say that those ancient protections even work anymore?" With no more than that as a warning, he raised his hands in an overly melodramatic fashion and unleashed the combined attack of five Q upon her slight, admittedly mortal form. A burning corona of scintillating energy flared through the air as Picard hoarsely screamed in protest.

Long-unused training took over, and without thought Guinan drew from Adara's wellspring of energy which was similar yet different from those they faced. Shaping it into a container, she casually diverted all the energy elsewhere. The smoke of the attack cleared, revealing Guinan and Adara standing unscathed within a black scorch mark on the floor. The Q across from her gaped in astonishment.

Guinan felt a righteous rage wash over her as she confronted the Q. In a voice she barely recognized, she grated, "Do you so easily abandon your own rules, omnipotent one? The _sabvasan_ are inviolate, as you are well aware." Pausing, allowing bitter contempt to drip from her words, Guinan added sarcastically, "I had thought that even the Q had enough honor to remember _that_."

The other's face darkened, but no outburst broke forth. Instead, he turned to his companions and seemed to somehow consult with them before turning to face Picard. "Do you willingly shelter these beings?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Picard shifted uneasily as Adara watched him with pleading in her gaze. Not knowing any other response, he replied, "Guinan is my friend."

The Q snorted in disdain. "What can humans, pitiful creatures that barely last a century, know of true friendship? Now answer me fully: do you willingly protect these beings with your vessel?"

Ignoring Guinan's hasty warning gesture, Picard calmly replied, "Yes."

The being's face broke into an evil grin. "Then perhaps if I destroy your vessel, the El Aurian will cease this—"

"No!" a new voice proclaimed. "This ship is now under _my_ protection."

* * *

><p>Picard groaned mentally – he knew <em>that<em> voice. Turning towards its source, he wasn't surprised to see Q – _his_ Q – standing beside Guinan, arms crossed over his chest, the arrogance that so irritated Picard greater than before. His mouth, however, showed a line of determination completely different from the perpetual sneer of the past. His eyes shone with a deadly sobriety completely unfamiliar to Picard. Also unexpected was his garb: a Starfleet uniform, complete with pips that denoted the rank of Rear Admiral. Struck by an irreverent thought, Picard mused, _That's the lowest rank that I've ever seen him assume._

Then what Q had declared struck him with the force of sharp slap. "_Your_ protection?" he demanded.

For a moment, the familiar exasperation showed in Q's face as Picard heard a voice in his mind: _Yes, Picard. Hard as it is to believe, I'm on_ your _side this time._ Then his face wiped itself clean of expression as he turned to face the other Q. "Would you care to explain your actions against one sacrosanct from attack?" he demanded, speaking as if to recalcitrant children.

The foremost one stiffened. "That _bitch_ murdered my son!" he snarled, pointing to the stiff corpse on the floor. Picard saw Adara pale. "I came to administer justice."

Q laughed contemptuously. "Your son attacked her first. She merely defended herself, took advantage of your son's stupidity, and killed him." Q looked at the one across from him disdainfully. "Anyone who displays that much idiocy deserves to die, and so much the better for the Continuum that such foolishness perishes with him." Fixing a stern glare upon him, Q continued, "For that matter, there was no reason for his assault in the first place. She is but mortal and—"

"_Mortal?_ Are you _blind?_ Look at her." When Q hesitated, he repeated his demand with heavier emphasis. _"Look at her!"_ Almost reluctant, Q turned to survey the Romulan.

And gasped. "Impossible! He's been gone since—"

The other smiled in vindication. "You know my formal feud with him, do you not?" Q nodded reluctantly, disbelief still on his features. "Then cease this interference!"

Shaking himself from bemusement, Q studied the Romulan again for a protracted instant, then returned his attention to the other. "This does not change my position. If anything, it strengthens my resolve." As the other's face darkened with anger, Q scowled so fiercely at him that he took a surprised step back. In an expressionless voice, Q continued, "Anything that has to do with formal feuds is the jurisdiction of the Assembly. This," he waved his hand towards Adara, "certainly falls within that category. Your son's death only reinforces the necessity to seek them out. If they find in your favor, I will cease this…_interference_, as you put it." He raised his finger to emphasize the point. _"If,"_ he said implacably, "you act outside these limits, I will not restrain myself."

"What do you owe _him_, that you so fiercely defend his bastard?" This question came from one of the clustered four, the first time that any of them had spoken.

Q turned on him, gaze capable of forging diamonds. "I owe him everything," he said quietly, no trace of mockery in his voice. "If I can find justice for his child, it may repay some of my debt to him."

Their leader regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Since you insist on this foolishness, I shall seek out the Assembly and present my case. But beware," he said, eyes flickering, "if I find that you have poisoned them against me before my arrival, I shall include you in my feud, as well." He chuckled even as he signaled for the others to retrieve his son's body. "I don't think even you could stand up to me _and_ my allies."

Then they were gone.

Picard turned to Q, brain desperately seeking a way to articulate his confusion. He started with, "My thanks, Q, for your mediation."

Q sighed in familiar exasperation. "Have I ever told you how blasted lucky you are, Picard?" A slight internal struggle seemed to occupy him momentarily, then he threw his hands in the air and said, "You already know more about the Continuum than most mortals. Why should I worry about revealing more?" His finger turned to Crusher. "But she has to go." Before Picard could object, Crusher disappeared, a surprised look on her face. "And I would like to discuss this in more suitable surroundings." He gestured ostentatiously, and reality blinked.

Picard found himself behind the desk in his ready room. Guinan, still gripping the Romulan's hand, was seated on a couch in front of the window, and Q had ensconced himself on a…

"A _throne_?" Picard said incredulously, louder than he intended.

Suddenly the door hissed open, and Riker appeared in the doorway. He stopped when he caught sight of Picard. "Sir, how did you-?" His gaze switched to Guinan, eyes widening when he saw the Romulan. Pulling out his weapon, he quickly pointed it and, before Picard could countermand him, fired.

A sad little _pfft_ emerged from the phaser. Riker stared down at it in disbelief.

Then Adara spoke for the second time since her abrupt appearance. "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice barely audible. Yet there was a power in it, a resonance that reminded him of… Picard glanced over at Q, and was not surprised to see rapt interest on his face.

Riker nodded, bereft of any other response. As he put his phaser backing its holster, he noticed Q for the first time. "Oh" was all he said. Glancing at Picard he asked, "Anything I can do for you, Captain?"

"Negative, Number One." _Except possibly a trip to the Guardian on the edge of forever,_ Picard added silently to himself.

Riker shook his head in confusion as he retreated through the door. Picard turned to Q. "Do you mind if I get some tea?"

"Not at all, old chap," drawled Q, burrowing himself into the suddenly plush throne. "Tell you what, I'll get it for you myself." With a small gesture, a steaming cup appeared Picard. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot, isn't it?" taunted Q.

Not rising to the bait, Picard casually sipped the tea, which was rather improved over the standard replicator offering. Wrapping silence about himself, he waited. The silence enveloped the room, broken only by the soft susurration of breathing.

Finally Q sighed dramatically. "Oh, very well, Picard, I'll start. But I must say that you are the most stubborn human I've ever encountered."

"And lucky?" Picard prodded, trying to elicit an explanation regarding Q's earlier comment.

"Lucky? Did I say that?" A subtle movement from the Romulan distracted Q. Putting his full attention on her, he said brusquely, "Who are you?"

The Romulan hesitated, then whispered, "My name is Adara."

Q waved a hand in dismissal. "That's not what I meant. What are you?"

She shook her head, perplexed. "I do not understand the question."

Q abruptly gained his feet. The throne disappeared as he confronted the Romulan, who barely managed to stagger upright before her reached her. "Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you get here? Who told you about _sabvasa_? Do you know-?"

Guinan interrupted, saying, "I think she's gone through enough today. Can't you let her rest?"

"I'm not talking to _you_," he said indifferently, taking his eyes from Adara for a moment.

"_Don't you_ dare _talk to her that way!"_ screamed Adara, and Q sailed across the room as if hurled by a giant. Picard ducked just in time to avoid collision with the hapless Q as he hit the wall and slid to the ground with solid impact.

As Picard gazed at him in astonishment, Q vaulted upright, anger blazing in his gaze. "How _dare_ you—" he began, then stopped. An almost amused look cam over his face as he said, "Perhaps the better question is, how _did_ you." He bowed with graceful sincerity to Guinan and Adara. "I apologize for speaking so inelegantly to your guardian, young _sabvasan_, and I suspect that she is right: you require rest. I can make suitable arrangements, if you wish."

Picard verbally stepped in. "I would be happy to give you some quarters for the duration of your stay on the _Enterprise_."

Confused, Adara looked back and forth between them while Guinan nodded sagely. "Thank you for your kind offers, but I believe I will take her to my quarters." She put a maternal arm around Adara, who sagged slightly. "I suspect she will be fully recovered after her rest, but she does need some. Now." Her tone brooked no argument.

"Of course," Picard said, although Q appeared slightly disappointed. Punching the comm button on his console, he said, "Commander Riker, report to my ready room."

Almost before he had finished his order, the door slid open as his first officer entered the room. "Yes, Captain?"

Indicating the Romulan, he said, "This is Adara. She is to be considered a guest. Please escort them to Guinan's quarters and establish a guard outside them until further notice." He turned to Guinan. "I would appreciate it if you could keep her in your quarters for the time being." He offered no further details, but Guinan acknowledged his undertones with a calm nod: she would keep Adara hidden when the Romulans arrived.

Riker carefully schooled his features into a suitable bland non-expression. "Aye, sir."

Guinan propelled Adara gently toward the door. When they passed close to Q, she stopped and stared at him. He returned her stare, mien uncertain. Slowly she reached out and stroked his cheek. Q's eyes widened, but he didn't recoil.

"I…know you," she whispered. "You are…" She wavered as a wave of weakness washed over her, and her hand dropped. "Shall we meet again?"

A slightly stunned expression settled over Q's features, as if he were remembering an event that had not yet come to pass. Awe dampened his voice as he replied, "Was there ever a doubt?"

Guinan looked at Q questioningly, then shrugged slightly and continued towards the door. Adara offered no more resistance.

As soon as the door closed, Q whirled to face Picard. "If you _ever_ tell anyone what she did to me…" he began.

Picard chuckled inwardly, but displayed none of his mirth. Instead, he sat down in his chair (pointedly ignoring the long crack in the wall behind him) and said, "If you answer all my questions about what just happened, I promise to hold my tongue until my death."

"Blackmail, Picard?"

Picard allowed a modicum of his amusement to show. "Consider it an equal exchange."

Q barked a laugh, then snapped his fingers dramatically. The throne reappeared, more glorious than before. As Picard waited impatiently, Q climbed into it, shifted around until comfortable, then leaned forward. "Very well, _mon capitaine_. What do you want to know?"

Picard took a breath. "What is your interest in the situation?"

Q countered with a question, recovering his accustomed arrogance. "What do you know about _sabvasa_?"

Picard paused. "Guinan mentioned that it was an ancient protection from harm."

"That is not enough knowledge." Q hesitated, obviously considering his next words. "I'm sure you will be shocked to learn that we of the Continuum have not always been the paragon of perfection that you see before you."

Regarding him with a flat stare, Picard remained silent.

Ignoring this singular lack of surprise, Q continued in expansive tones. "In our young and foolish days, the Continuum suffered from too much power and too little experience, which combined to produce particularly potent passions. Tempers, once flared, proved to be far more lethal as the grudges that resulted often resulted in the death of both parties. After a time, it was decided by the Eldest of the Q that objective observers were required to protect the parties involved until the formal feuds could be mediated without death." He glance at Picard to make sure he was paying attention. "The people most recently chosen for this singular honor were the inhabitants of El Aur."

Picard's eyes widened in surprise. "El Aur?"

Q sighed, irritated at the interruption. "Yes, Picard. Now listen closely. To ensure the safety of these 'objective observers', the Eldest deemed it necessary to grant all _sabvas_ the ability to protect themselves from the Q." Pursing his lips, Q said, "I myself have often questioned the wisdom of that decision."

"Then you weren't there?"

"My parents were in their infancy when these procedures were established, Picard. I won't bother to describe them in Terran years – those tiny lengths of time don't suffice. At any rate, their status, once altered, could not be changed back to what it had been. Over the years, cautious testing on the part of the baser members of the Continuum discovered that a large number of Q could overcome the protections of the _sabvas_."

"How many?"

"I believe the number was in the hundreds; enough to destroy galaxies with little effort."

Picard inhaled, impressed. "That's powerful protection."

Q grinned. "Of course, the _sabvas_ only have that amount of protection when they are actually performing their duties. Otherwise they can only hold one Q at bay at a time."

"Such as Guinan did with you."

Q's face darkened, not enjoying the reminder. "Yes, Picard. Like that."

"But what do the _sabvas_ protect?"

Q blinked in surprise. "I should think that would be obvious. They protect those who seek them out before the feud is judged by the Assembly." At Picard's dubious look, he continued in a condescending tone, "The _sabvasan_, those protected by the _sabvas_, are traditionally inviolate from attack. Even though the _sabvas_ may be destroyed with enough determination, no _sabvasan_ has ever suffered harm while under that protection."

"Do you expect me to believe that the Q cannot overcome what they themselves put into place?" Picard said, disbelief plain on his features.

"You weren't listening, Picard. I said that this system was established by the Eldest of the Q."

"How many are there?"

"There is but one, the first Q ever to exist." Q averted his gaze from Picard's uncomfortably. "No one knows where he came from. He's just…the Eldest. Suffice it to say that, but for him, the Continuum would have sniped each other out of existence long before now." He relaxed slightly. "Of course, no one's _needed_ a _sabvasa_ for a while."

"Until now," Picard pointed out.

"As you say," Q said, face pensive. "Do you recall that unfortunate business with Trelane?"

Startled by the non sequitor, Picard said, "I do."

"Do you recall my description of a tutor?" After waiting for Picard's nod, he continued, "My former tutor, apparently, is Adara's father."

"Her fa—" Picard started, shocked. "I would have assumed that Q arrogance precluded any attempt of procreation with a mortal."

Q's eyes flashed. "The idea is not entirely without merit, though the physical mechanics seem a trifle repugnant to me." Leaning forward, he said, "But that is not the only distinctive aspect of her case. My tutor, her father, is what you humans would call the offspring of the Eldest. Save for his father, he is the most powerful Q in the Continuum."

"Then why doesn't he just save the girl in a flash of light?" inquired Picard acerbically. "I would have thought a being of such power capable of preventing any harm to come to his daughter."

The other's expression grew troubled. "I haven't seen him since my tutoring ended, Picard. I simply don't know." Surprised at this professed ignorance on Q's part, Picard stifled further comment. "Any more questions, _mon capitaine_?"

Picard folded his arms firmly on the desk in front of him. "I ask again, what is your interest in this situation? You were not aware of Adara's identity before appearing on my ship, therefore obligation to your mentor was not a factor. Why did you come to the _Enterprise_ at that precise moment?"

A grin worthy of Riker appeared on Q's face. "That idiot is one of the more insufferable asses in the Continuum. I just wanted to annoy the hell out of him."

"He certainly didn't seem a master of favorable first impressions," Picard agreed sardonically.

Q laughed shortly. "That's an understatement, _mon capitaine_." Suddenly standing, Q said, "I have answered all you need to know. If you want anything more, ask the El Aurian." Waving a hand casually, Q dematerialized the throne.

"Where are you going?"

Q bowed mockingly. "I'm going to try to save your ship, Picard. Do you object?" Without waiting for a reply, Q disappeared.

Picard leaned back in his chair. "How am I going to explain this one?" he asked the empty room. As if in answer, Riker's voice echoed in the room. "Sir, our Romulan escort is in visual range."

"On my way, Number One," Picard responded. As he strode from the room, he found himself wondering how the new situation would affect the mission. His inner conclusions produced no comforting reassurances.

* * *

><p>Crusher blinked. She had forgotten how disorienting Q's sudden transporting abilities were and found herself taking a deep breath to fight a sudden rush of nausea. Glancing at her surroundings, she realized that Q had returned her to sick bay. Nurse Ogawa was preoccupied with the still form lying on a table on the other side of the room. The traumatized form of Lieutenant Birge sat quietly nearby, staring into space without blinking.<p>

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Crusher fought another bout of nausea as she forcibly pushed the memory from her mind, refusing to relive the horror of thin screams and shuddering spasms emanating from the ruined mass of tissue that before had been recognizable as Lieutenant Maximillian Brent. Judging from his currently quiescent state, the medical staff had finally discovered a way to anesthetize him.

Further consideration of the man's condition halted as the door to sick bay opened to allow the approach of the only human she considered more implacable than Worf. Commander Killian swept into the room, keen gaze scrutinizing every nook and cranny, searching automatically for weaknesses and strengths. Spotting the still form upon the table, he halted precipitously. Then, every movement demonstrating profound discipline, he forced himself to walk to Crusher's side. Without a word, he gestured towards the sheet covering Brent in a clear command to remove it. Reluctantly she complied. Killian's sharp intake of breath was the only betrayal of his shock. Crusher found herself averting her eyes to avoid dwelling on the supine form of the Elite officer.

Had she been challenged to come up with a term to describe what had happened to him, she realized that the closest description would be 'skinned alive'. His eyes stared straight ahead, bereft of the comfort of eyelids. Raspy breaths emanated from his ravaged face, accompanied by bubbling sounds as he struggled to use a nose that could no longer perform its given function. Crusher focused on the computer screen displaying his vital signs as a distraction from watching the spasmodic twitching of various muscles that shone clearly without the accustomed protection of skin. The fact that he still lived mystified her, though all his readings were well within the normal range for a healthy human. The chilling thought occurred to her that whoever had done this to him had quite deliberately left him in this state: alive, aware, and in unbounded pain. She shuddered in sympathy.

Killian, aside from his initial reaction, merely scrutinized the tortured body of his second-in-command, then calmly turned to Crusher with a blank face. Deep behind his gaze, however, a volcanic anger seethed, searching for someone to blame, a victim to suffer his wrath. In a voice unrecognizable as human for its sheer breadth of coldness, he said, "What happened?"

Crusher shivered, fighting the sudden urge to retreat a few steps. "Some unexpected visitors, Commander." She paused delicately, unwilling to reveal too much about the nature of the 'visitors'.

The door opened, admitting Deanna Troi. Concern in her luminous eyes, she strode across the room to Brent's side. She studied him momentarily before turning to Crusher. "He is stable?"

Crusher nodded. "For the moment, yes. I am unsure how long he will remain unconscious without stronger measures."

Killian, who hadn't moved his intense gaze from Crusher, inquired softly, "And if he awakens?"

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she said, "Whoever did this to him, Commander, had tremendous power and no compassion." Troi transferred her gaze to her friend, an astonished query hovering behind her lips. Signaling patience, Crusher continued, "According to the sensors, there is no appreciable threat to his health, but any time he spends awake will only be overwhelming torture. He could live for years in waking agony."

"And the cure?" Killian bit off.

She licked her lips nervously. "Weeks in the making, if indeed it is possible to replace the largest organ in the body. Specific skin grafts are relatively simple, but the entire skin itself?" She shook her head. "I cannot recall ever hearing anyone else sustaining such injuries and remaining alive."

Killian stared at Brent for a moment, motionless. Then he looked at Crusher. "Induce a coma." She started to object, but he swept on. "You can sustain people relatively indefinitely in that condition, can you not?"

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly, "but the possibility of brain damage is—"

A quick, controlled gesture cut her short. "Do it." Crusher glanced at Troi, who nodded slightly, face wary. "But," he added as she began to turn away, "before you do that, I wish to know more about the 'visitors' who did this."

"To kill them?" Troi inquired sharply.

Killian finally turned and acknowledge her presence with a frightening grin. "Of course not, Counselor. I intend to return the favor."

* * *

><p>"You knew my father?" Adara said wonderingly.<p>

Guinan nodded. "Not everyone who started the training as a _sabvas_ proved able to complete the training, and the most trying portion of the training required a mentor who was a member of the Q Continuum itself. In my case, I was assigned to a Q who chose to call himself Viridian."

"What was he like?"

"You mean you don't remember him?"

The young woman's expression abruptly sobered. "All but four years of my life, I suffered the ministrations of those who hated me. Somewhere in there, memories of my father seem to have melted away."

_Four years,_ mused Guinan, trying to figure out why that should grab her attention. "He was a great being, not only in power, but in his demeanor. I remember…" She paused, searching for the words. "I remember an old man with eternity in his eyes and a universe of knowledge. He never seemed to consider me inferior, as most Q seemed to believe, but rather as a child with potential waiting to be drawn out. Of all the Q I have ever met, he is the only one who seemed willing to experience the mortal viewpoint."

Adara bowed her head. When she raised it again, an imploring look was on her face. "Did you know my mother?"

Guinan shook her head gently. "I knew your father centuries ago, child. You are but a quarter of century old. Other than the fact that she must have been a Romulan, I know nothing of—" Abruptly she broke off as she remembered why _four years_ seemed so important. "Merak!"

Jumping in recognition, Adara said excitedly, "You know Merak?"

"_You_ know Merak?"

She nodded happily. "Of course. He's my brother."

Guinan gaped at her. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, "Perhaps you'd better explain."

The other woman swallowed harshly. Then she met Guinan's gaze. In a deceptively cold voice, she said, "It started with the murder of my mother." Abruptly her face settled into implacable hatred. "And if I ever find that one-eyed bastard who killed her, I will not stop at destroying his body."

* * *

><p>Picard cleared his throat in a bid for attention. The others, disconcerted by the unexpected conference call, halted their conversations. Folding his hands before him, Picard said, "Are there any points that require further clarification?" Silence answered his question. The others settled back into their chairs. Finally Ju-galrianmei spoke.<p>

"You say that you do not believe that the Romulan Adara will directly affect the mission." He gestured peremptorily out the window. "Our Romulan escort is here, the arrival of the Romulan dignitaries is imminent, and you claim that the mysterious, violent appearance of a complete stranger who just happens to be Romulan won't affect us? What if there are others who wish to destroy her?"

Picard winced inwardly, wishing he could reveal more to the Ambassador about the Q and Adara's specific history. An unspoken, urgent internal warning prevented him from revealing too much, and so he was reduced to covering a gaping hole of logic using only the magic of words. "There has been nothing to indicate the possibility of a further attack, Ambassador. However, I have been assured by Guinan that nothing further will endanger this ship because of Adara."

"Guinan?" Ju-galrianmei inquired. He blinked, then suddenly relaxed. "Very well, Captain. I am satisfied."

Surprised at this abrupt acquiescence, Picard almost didn't notice the slight stirring of Killian, who sat, still as a statue, at the far end of the table. The others seated around the table turned to face him in surprise, so unexpected was his movement. "Captain, who is guarding this Adara at the present time?"

"Security, of course," he replied.

The Elite commander shook his head slightly in disapproval. "Captain, I realize that the initial meeting between the Ambassadors and the Romulan representatives is crucial to the success of the mission. I wish to volunteer my services and that of the Elite towards the guardianship of this new arrival, in order to avoid any cumbersome Security reassignments."

Picard regarded the man in open astonishment, and Deanna's gaze suddenly acquired shadows of wariness. "The offer is appreciated, Mr. Killian, but I believe the current situation will be adequate for our needs."

"Perhaps, Captain," he replied, eyes suddenly smoldering, "but consider this: when our guests arrive, you are going to need to present a strong and gracious front. What do you think would be the Romulan reaction if, during a standard tour of the ship, a small group of armed and obviously alert Security personnel were seen lurking in the hallways?"

Ju-galrianmei inhaled sharply. "That may present a difficulty," he murmured.

Inclining his head in acknowledgment of the other's logic, Picard inquired, "And how would the use of Elite protection alleviate this particular problem?"

Killian grinned ferally, teeth glinting in the artificial light. "The Elite need not rely on overt forms of weapons – indeed, we rely upon few save those given to us through genetics. Besides," he added, gesturing towards his own dark blue uniform with its conspicuously unblemished collar, "I hardly think that the Romulans would be familiar with our uniforms. In a tight situation, I'm sure you could convince them that we are ship maintenance."

"Janitors?" Riker joked.

A flash of genuine amusement flickered across the Elite's face before he sobered abruptly. "Indeed. Now, as for why the Elite should assume the onerous burden of guarding such an unknown entity…" His gaze flickered towards Riker and, strangely, Troi, before he continued. "The Elite are the soul of discretion, Caption. And we owe Adara a debt."

"What kind of debt, Kill?" said Riker softly.

Killian fixed a dead stare upon him. "Of gratitude, naturally. I doubt, from your descriptions of the being, that we would have been able to avenge Brent's misfortune."

Picard glanced questioningly at Deanna, who nodded slightly. Meeting the other's eyes, he nodded his head and said, "Very well, Mr. Killian. Make it so."

Killian rose, bowed slightly, and stalked out of the room.

"I hope you know what you're doing, sir," murmured Riker fervently.

"So do I, Number One," Picard answered softly. "So do I."

* * *

><p>A figure shimmered and solidified in the center of the room. Green eyes shone with a light of their own as they scrutinized the current inhabitants. One, of dark skin and serene expression, lay sleeping upon the couch. The other, upraised eyebrows furrowed in nightmares and pointed ears lost amid tousled midnight hair, tossed uneasily upon the lone bed.<p>

The figure moved to the side of the bed and stared down at she who lay upon it. Finally, a hand reached out and caressed the girl's cheek. At the touch, the restless writhing immediately ceased, and a sense of peace permeated the room.

"So like your mother," the figure murmured into the quiet darkness. "I wish…" The figure sighed, and the hand withdrew. "Soon…" The last word whispered through the darkness, dropping into a bottomless pit of broken promises.

The figure disappeared, leaving nothing in its wake save a small, contented smile upon the lips of his daughter.


	8. Elsewhere 3

Merak closed his eyes, concentrating. His awareness scanned the star system, striving to locate the instability that would eventually cause it to crumble in upon itself and explode in a fiery burst of cataclysmic energy. Locating the difficulty in the shaky orbit of the third planet from the sun, he detected the source of its distress and calmly healed it, letting the power flow into the wound that had been caused by a collision with an errant comet. He felt the effect as the orbit stabilized and, extending his senses over time, he saw with a small sense of satisfaction that the system would eventually produce sentient life.

"Well done, my son," said a voice from behind him, and Merak turned with pride on his face.

"You're back!"

"Of course," his father said, green eyes calm. "And apparently you have progressed quickly in your short time of training."

Merak allowed a triumphant smile. "That did go rather smoothly, didn't it?"

His father, incarnated as a Romulan out of deference for Merak's fixed form, returned the smile. "Aye, Merak. One would almost suspect that the power had been yours to use all your life."

Merak's face clouded at the reminder that he had not had access to his Q inheritance before being taken from Alcatraz Station by his father. "Why didn't you come for me earlier?"

His father moved his gaze to watch a supernova in the distance. "To do so would have placed you and your sister into potentially more danger. I did what I could at the time without alerting my enemies of my whereabouts – I wove protections that obscured you from my enemy's sight while I distracted their attention, and the tactic served you admirably."

"And Adara?" he objected, voicing his only reservation upon being recovered by his father. "Why didn't you protect her?"

"I-I couldn't," his father said, eyes distant.

Anger suffused Merak's being. "Do you know the hell she's gone through? Do you understand exactly what she has suffered because of your inability to—"

His father abruptly rounded on him, and Merak recoiled from the unexpected wrath he saw in his father's eyes. "There were reasons, Merak." An insufferable sadness entered his face. "Your mother—" With a gesture, he dismissed the comment. "I couldn't. Besides," he continued, "I did make sure that she received the proper protection once she was ready."

"This El Aurian you're so fond of?"

"Among other factors, yes."

"Is your former pupil one of these factors?" Merak asked insolently.

His father's eyes glittered a trifle menacingly. "He is part of this, yes."

Merak fell silent. For some strange reason, whenever he thought about that particular Q he found himself experiencing vague impressions of envy and jealousy. He did not understand why, and he had never mentioned it to his father for fear of reprimand. Abruptly a thought occurred to him. "What about the Assembly? What if they decide that your enemy has the right to kill her?"

"When that occurs," he said, and Merak noted his deliberate avoidance of the word _if_, "we must hope that matters have progressed on the _Enterprise_ as I anticipate."

"And how is that?" he demanded suspiciously.

"You presume much," his father snapped. Then his gaze softened. "Have patience, my son. All will be revealed in time." Then he shimmered and disappeared.

"Great," Merak muttered. "I ask for reassurances, and I get tired old platitudes even a human could dispense." He looked at the third world from the sun he had saved just minutes earlier. "What does it profit a man to gain the world…" he murmured thoughtfully, then shrugged and turned his thoughts elsewhere.


	9. Chapter 5

Trenata resisted the urge to smooth the front of her formal dress, attempting to fight off her impatience and lingering nervousness. Aware that she must present a bold front, she concentrated on emulating the calm figure who strode at her side.

Ju-galrianmei smoothly progressed down the corridor, seemingly oblivious to the admiring glances cast his way by the crew members of the _Enterprise_. She scrutinized him peripherally, as he had taught her, noticing the meticulous care that had been invested in his appearance. His white mane of hair had been arranged in a particularly severe style signaling sobriety of purpose and steadiness of manner. His clothing was carefully chosen with dark browns underscored by black to accent his skin tone, with bright shades of gold, cream, and ivory in an elaborate shawl carefully draped across his shoulders. His attire, beautiful though it was, unfortunately also reminded her of the death shroud of her mother's people: dark colors for death, light shades for rebirth. Shivering slightly, she straightened her posture and ordered herself to attend to the matter at hand.

Her own garments consisted primarily of green and blue hues. Together they swirled around her body in the diaphanous opacity she had come to appreciate in recent years. The silk against her skin also helped her muscles relax further, and she used their seductive thrall to distract her mind from the tension that threatened to overwhelm her ability to analyze their first meeting with the Romulan dignitaries. Her hair, in contrast to Ju-galrianmei's severity, was woven into an ornate flow of golden curls, and the self-consciousness of her Orion awareness reveled in its provocative shine.

Behind them strode a discreet escort, hands hovering near their phasers. A casual reading of their emotive state sparked a revelation. She almost hit herself on the forehead at her own stupidity as she suddenly recognized the source of her stress. Speaking for the first time since they had left their quarters on their way to the transporter room, she said, "The entire crew's on edge today."

The Deltan glanced at her, eyebrow raised sardonically. "Did you truly expect anything else, my dear?"

"No, but I hadn't considered that I would react so strongly to it," she confessed. Then she grinned lightly. "I guess this means my father's legacy is alive and kicking, hmm?"

"That is something I was hoping to hear, Trenata," his mellow voice told her. "I, too, must confess to feeling something resembling anxiety."

"You?" she asked, incredulous. "You never get nervous."

"I have also never been in such a disadvantaged position before, either." Ju-galrianmei shook his head, rejecting his sudden depression. "At least I can take comfort in the skills of our team, my dear."

"Yes," she agreed weakly. Further self-evaluation for weakness was halted by their arrival at the designated transporter room. The escort immediately took their positions outside the door. Trenata repressed a sigh as they walked into the room. The three _Enterprise_ officers, resplendent in their dress uniforms, turned around to greet them.

Picard spoke first. "Greetings, Ambassadors. We have just received word that our guests will be arriving shortly. I have arranged for several of our more reliable younger officers to lead our guests to their quarters. Are there further matters which must be attended to before the transfer?"

As Ju-galrianmei shook his head, Trenata surreptitiously cast a glance at the other two men in the room. Riker's face wore an expression of open admiration which did not surprise her. Next she performed a similar scrutiny on Data, whose reaction was infinitely gratifying. As she had entered the room, he had turned around like the others, but his gaze had gravitated towards her. Now he was standing completely still, apparently unaffected, save for one small detail.

Riker, following her gaze, glanced at Data. He instantly assumed a poker face, but she could sense his rising humor. "Data, why is your mouth hanging open?"

Data tore his gaze from her. "I do not believe that is possible, Commander," he said, a trifle distractedly. "That is an entirely human reaction that is not in my basic programming." His tone, however, held little conviction. "Perhaps I should run some diagnostics," he stated, expression concerned.

"Never mind, Mr. Data," the Captain said. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

Before Data could protest further, the ensign behind them announced, "The Romulans have sent us the coordinates, sir."

Without hesitation, Picard ordered, "Energize."

The transporter pad shimmered, vertical blue lines marking the familiar procedure that would today determine the future of the galaxy. The vague outlines of figures gradually defined, and nine Romulans, three groups of three, abruptly materialized on the _Enterprise_.

Ju-galrianmei and Picard smoothly stepped forward to greet them. As previously arranged, the Deltan spoke first. "I greet the representatives of the Star Empire in the name of the United Federation of Planets. I am Ju-galrianmei, head Ambassador of the delegation. My talents, as well as those of my assistants, are at your disposal."

Picard, with no less formality, continued, "I welcome the representatives of the Star Empire onto the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. I am Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of this vessel, and I receive you in the name of Starfleet. May this ship and her crew serve your needs."

The leading Romulan stepped forward, angular brows smooth with serenity. In a stentorian voice that demonstrated a long familiarity with oratory, he spoke. "I greet you, Ambassador Ju-galrianmei and Captain Jean-Luc Picard, in the name of the Star Empire. I am Senator Serlin of House Meihan, appointed leader of this delegation." He turned around and gestured for two of the others on the platform to join him.

"This is Corikh of House Jeiai, Governor of Saatilvik and former member of the High Command." A tall Romulan of imposing demeanor glowered unhappily at the non-Romulans before him. His dark hair, cut short save for a section woven into a long braid, gleamed immaculately. A subtle sense of battle-readiness permeated his bearing, emphasized by his choice of clothing: a functional grey tunic with black squares over loose leggings, apparel usually reserved for the active military of Romulus. Trenata flinched back inwardly from the barely-contained hostility beneath his bleak expression, a contrast that bespoke adamantine control. Without direct orders, Trenata knew that this would be her main target while evaluating the Romulan envoys for willingness to disrupt the mission.

The governor nodded his head with insulting brevity. "Picard," he grated, not even deigning to acknowledge Ju-galrianmei's existence. "You looked better as a Romulan."

Ignoring this impolitic reminder of Picard's unsanctioned invasion of Romulan territory, Serlin continued, "This is Senator Sienae of House Khellian."

Sienae bowed her head in a gracious manner. Mildly surprised at the presence of a woman among the delegates, Trenata quickly employed her faculties to judge the woman's personal compunctions about the negotiations. Her first impression, of a woman accustomed to literal analysis and snap decisions, was reinforced by the other's unconscious projection of a deadly sharp talon hidden beneath silk. Dark hazel eyes flashed beneath a coronet of silver, and her mouth twisted slightly into a condescending sneer. Trenata felt concern until she realized that the woman's contempt was directed at Corikh, not at the small crowd before her.

A tiny gesture from the imposing woman summoned one of her attendants, and Trenata suffered another minor shock: rather than bringing two warriors as an escort, Sienae had opted to bring a servant. _A gambit of deception or trust?_ she pondered. The woman gave a small package to Sienae, who then stepped forward to stand before Picard.

"I've always wanted to meet you, Captain Picard," the woman said in a rich voice. "My conversations with Ambassador Spock during his recent stays on Romulus only increased my desire to spend time with you and other humans. These talks present a wonderful opportunity for me." Wary but obviously flattered, Picard issued a small bow of acknowledgment. The woman smiled and continued, "I understand that you are a collector of antiquities, Captain. May I present you with a text of Romulus?" With a flourish, she presented a small, elegantly bound book to Picard. "It is a short account of the history of Romulus from its founding to about two hundred years ago. The history we're willing to admit, anyway." Behind her, Corikh's expression contorted with hate, then resumed its previous blank neutrality so quickly she almost missed it. Ju-galrianmei squeezed her hand in warning: he'd seen it, too. "It's in Romulan, of course, but I hope you will accept this small token."

Picard accepted the offering gravely, though Trenata could sense the excitement underneath his calm façade. "You honor me more than words can recount, my lady," Picard said clearly. "A volume of this importance shall occupy a place of especial distinction among my other treasures." He paused then, looking intently at the woman almost as if in recognition. With a small shake of his head, he smiled again and stepped back, deferring to Ju-galrianmei.

Serlin, obviously trying not to appear off-balance by the woman's unexpected gesture, spoke again. "Sienae, as well as a lady of great beauty, also currently serves on the Continuing Committee."

Trenata choked back a gasp of surprise even as she felt a sharp burst of amazement radiate from Ju-galrianmei. _Members of the Continuing Committee rarely leave Romulus,_ she marveled, _much less attend a peace conference with former enemies._ Quickly she reviewed her knowledge of the Romulan government. _If nothing has changed substantially in the past twenty years, then one of the most influential individuals of the Romulan Empire stands before us with a promise of potential friendship. Odd that she is not the leader of the delegation, since she outranks Serlin._

Her chain of thought was broken as Serlin added deferentially, "Senator Sienae came because she insisted."

The lady looked at Serlin fondly and remarked, "I wished to spare Senator Serlin the pain my absence from his presence would cause." Absently touching the silver coronet nestled in her midnight hair, she said, "These negotiations interrupt our courtship."

Corikh, unwilling to further contain himself, growled, "Enough! We have been formally introduced. Let our hosts identify their own."

Ju-galrianmei stepped forward with incredible aplomb, as if the idea had been his own. "Esteemed ones, I would present to you my partner, Ambassador Trenata. I consider her my equal in all matters."

Picard motioned Riker and Data forward. "This is my first officer, Commander William Riker, and science officer Lieutenant Commander Data." They bowed respectfully in greeting. "They shall escort you to your quarters, where you may rest and prepare yourselves for the formal reception tomorrow." He glanced inquiringly at Serlin. "Unless you wish to tour the ship first, Senator?"

The Romulan smiled. "Thank you for your consideration, Captain, but it is rather late in the night by Romulan standards."

Almost belatedly, Trenata remembered her last directive from Ju-galrianmei. _"Take note of their observer,"_ he had instructed._ "They will have someone designated to simply observe us in our unguarded moments. Watching the one who watches us can be an unexpected asset at times."_ With this in minds, she scrutinized the five silent warriors behind the delegates. Instantly her attention was drawn to one of the Romulans hovering behind Corikh. A long, ragged scar passed through his left eye, providing a neat distraction from the penetrating stare of the man. More disturbing, however, was the fact that he seemed to have no emotional resonance at all. _He's trained to avoid detection from any means,_ she realized.

As if in response to her thoughts, he jerked his head around and stared at her. A slow, cruel grin changed his face from foreboding to fey. She shivered and averted her eyes.

Data, aware of her discomfort if not the source of it, inquired solicitously, "Are you all right, Ambassador?"

"Of course, Commander." She glanced at the now seemingly harmless Romulan, who had returned to his previous detached calm, and suppressed another shiver. "I'm fine."

* * *

><p>Adara opened her eyes, unsure of the reason for her waking. A quick scrutiny of her injuries revealed a surprise: they were gone, healed as if they had never been. Inhaling deeply, she felt no pain in her side, and the insistent throbbing in her head had disappeared like a whisper in the night. Even her green dress rippled smoothly across her healthy body, with no trace of the copious amounts of blood she remembered from before.<p>

Fully awake, she rose quickly from the warm, soft bed and slowly made her way across the room. As she approached the door, a subtle need rang through her. _I must go,_ she realized. She felt it, a whisper at the edge of her mind, a buzzing call of chaos. Her face clouded with concern as she heard the echo of a pain that was as horrible as what she herself had suffered in the prisons of black stone. Without waking Guinan, she strode from the cabin.

A rather imposing man turned to face her, a startled expression on his face. "You must be Adara." The statement seemed to be as much question as an assertion, so she nodded slightly in response. His eyes glanced at the door she had just gone through, and he said, expression amused, "You've got a way of making an entrance, I'll give you that."

Adara glanced at the door behind her curiously. "Don't all humans use doors?"

"Most of us, yes," the man affirmed, "but we wait for it to open before going through it." He chuckled at her slight blush. "Never mind. My name is Commander Killian, though you may call me Killian if you wish."

"Killian," she said, tasting the shape of it, finding it tantalizingly familiar. Shaking off the odd sensation, she said, "It is a good name. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's something I have to attend to." Before he could say anything further, she turned and walked down the corridor, not noticing as he quickly moved to follow her closely. Following the insistent call in her head, she wended her way through the ship, shifting space around her as necessary until they arrived at her destination, unconsciously bringing the human along with her.

Killian inhaled sharply when he recognized where they were. "Sickbay is several decks above where we started. How did we get here without-?"

Adara hesitated long enough for the door to open properly, then replied succinctly, "I took a shortcut."

She entered a solid wall of screams. Sickbay was in chaos. A stressed nurse desperately directed three orderlies to aid the red-haired woman she vaguely recognized as Doctor Crusher. Crusher, herself obviously calm only through sheer force of will, valiantly strove to restrain the writhing figure on the table before her. Shifting her gaze to that which Crusher strove with inhuman effort to keep still, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Fighting down every instinct and revulsion that told her to run from the horrific sight, she clenched her mouth shut and quickly advanced to stand beside the tortured figure.

Killian joined her. "What happened?" he shouted, barely heard above the agonized screams of the creature on the bed.

The Doctor raised her gaze, startled by his sudden appearance. "He pulled himself out the coma," she yelled back. "Now nothing seems to affect him. He can't faint, and he can't die."

Adara stared in horror at what her enemy had wrought on the man, simply because he had been there. Moved by a need to atone for the sin of bringing the Q to the ship in the first place, she spread her hands and placed them upon the spasming chest muscles.

Abruptly the screaming ceased as the figure stopped its frenzied movement. Underneath her palms she felt the strong heartbeat and the steady breathing. Relieved that she had managed to stop his pain, ears ringing in the sudden silence, she sought for a permanent cure. Closing her eyes, she extended her awareness to flow through him, discovering a sluggish response that grew stronger as she prodded it. Behind her all activity stopped as everyone stared at her in astonishment. After noting the strong life signs on the display above the bed, Crusher's inquiring gaze met Killian's only to receive a shrug that indicated they should wait and see what happened.

Adara merged further with the injured man. A name entered her mind – _Maximillian Brent_ – and an identification – _Lieutenant Commander of Starfleet Elite_ – and the event that consumed his thoughts, hindering his fight for life – _pitiful shells of once-proud starships burning aimlessly in the vacuum of space, left in the wake of the Borg attack_ – and the sense of loss threatened to overwhelm her. More images poured into her head, a collage of memories and beliefs that comprised the entirety of the man before her. With a quick thought, she took each of them, putting them together with care and compassion, calling him back to life. After a moment, his body responded with a sudden surge of strength. Slowly she showed him how to grow his skin, layer by dermal layer. After a time she removed her hands, but the healing continued unabated. Finally, satisfied with his progress, she stepped back from the bed, granting Killian and Crusher full view of the man upon it.

Brent lay still and calm, completely naked, but also fully restored, face clear of the scar that had marked his hatred. Adara looked hesitantly at them with uncertainty. "You don't mind, do you?"

Unable to conjure up a suitably adequate response, Killian mumbled, "Not at all." He paused, then said with uncharacteristic haste, "How did you do that?"

Crusher simply stared, mouth hanging slightly agape. Then, breaking herself from a state of stupor, she moved to Adara's side. Taking out her medical tricorder, she moved the wand thoroughly over Brent's supine body, intensely studying the results that glowed on the small display. After she had completed the scan, she closed the 'corder and replaced it in her jacket. Only then did she meet Adara's eyes and whisper, in tones so beautiful that they would have made an angel weep in envy, "Thank you."

* * *

><p>Viktris knew that she was extremely fortunate. She had been born an orphan, living in the slums of Iuruth on Romulus with no one to aid or guide her. The normal deprivations of the homeless remained in her memory – starvation, freezing and baking throughout the seasons, rags for clothing, and sexual assault by powerless homeless men. Her reaction had been disassociation: retaining memory of the events without holding on to her emotional responses. She had learned how to fight, and how to enact revenge; by the time she had reached the age of fifteen, she had gained a reputation for being able to handle any number of dirty deeds, given the right payment. When she turned seventeen, her fame had spread beyond the slums of Iuruth, reaching, in whispers, the ears of those Rihannsu who had a need for such talents.<p>

Thus, on the day of her eighteenth birthday, the last chance a Romulan had to choose a patron, a man had approached and ordered her to follow him. Mildly curious, and suffering a slight case of boredom, she had complied.

_The man took her to Ra'tleihfi, the capital city, which she had never before seen or even dared hope to see. Once there, he guided her to what was obviously the section of the city where those with true power resided, with mansions that encompassed entire blocks and roads clean as the sky after rainfall. People walked the streets with no fear of those around them, unlike Iuruth, where all were considered enemies until proven otherwise. Viktris, dressed only in rags, dirty from weeks of self-neglect, understood the contemptuous glances cast in her direction. Grabbing the elbow of her guide, she pulled him to a halt. "I do not belong."_

_The other looked at her disdainfully. "The lady wishes to speak to you, and the lady's wishes are always fulfilled. Come!" Unable to object further, she fell in step behind him._

_As they moved through the sumptuous streets, she noticed without surprise the guards that stood outside every mansion. Her guide's livery allowed them to continue unchallenged, but she noted approvingly that the guards didn't relax until they were well away from the residences they watched. _

_Eventually they reached the largest abode yet. It towered over the others, exerting a matter-of-fact superiority on behalf of whoever dwelt therein. The roof reflected the brilliance of the sun with red tiles, and the darkly tinted windows revealed no secrets from within. No guards stood outside the portal, yet Viktris felt a deadly chill run through her being, as if something had scrutinized her in an instant and allowed her to pass. Wondering what the invisible sentinel did to the unwelcome, she shivered as she followed the guide into the imposing edifice._

_The first sound she heard was a baby's wail, joined quickly by another. She saw an older Romulan matron – the children's nursemaid, she assumed – bustling between two bassinets. As her guide drew to a halt, the nurse sighed and picked up one of the babies and placed it in the same container as the other infant. Abruptly the crying stopped. The matron clucked to herself and turned to face them._

"_Ah, Havlok." The woman turned her gaze to Viktris. "You found her, then?" Hardly pausing for breath, she turned around and called into a door, "Milady! Havlok's returned."_

_Without warning a shape filled the archway to the garden outside. Viktris noted a colorful pond before turning her full attention to the lady before her. The Rihannsu woman, garbed in a stunning gown of dark green, studied Viktris with keen hazel eyes before nodding decisively. __The lady gestured at Havlok. "Leave us." Havlok hesitated, as if to object, then bowed stiffly and left the room. The noblewoman dismissed him with a sniff, saying, "He is but a spy, and of no import." Slowly she lowered herself into a seat, eyes calmly regarding Viktris. "You are Viktris, are you not?" the lady demanded. Viktris nodded warily in response. "Have you as yet chosen a patron?"_

"_Nay, lady," Viktris replied, curiosity getting the best of her. "Such is usually not the lot of the casteless." She paused, then decided to try boldness. "Might I know my lady's name?"_

_The other regarded her intently once more, then smiled as if pleased by Viktris' audacity. "I am Saehir i-Ra'tleihfi t'Khellian."_

_Her palms broke into spontaneous sweat as she realized that the woman who had summoned her was none other than Saehir, daughter of the revered Ramak t'Khellian. During his tenure as Praetor of Romulus decades previous, Ramak had established s'Khellian as the most influential House in the Empire. Between the two women loomed an insurmountable gap comprised of centuries of tradition, pride and blood, a gap which could not, according to the dictates of Romulan society, ever be bridged. Flushing slightly, she quickly lowered her gaze so as not the offend the Rihannsu with her visage. Echoing her previous thought, she said softly, "Forgive me, my lady. I do not belong here."_

_The lady considered this response. "Perhaps. Yet I have need of you." As Viktris raised her eyes to stare in disbelief, Saehir lifted her chin and whispered, "Viridian."_

_A man appeared. Viktris blinked in surprise at his abrupt appearance even as she felt the same chill she had felt outside the house. Mind numb, she realized that he was not Rihannsu. Human, her eyes told her, with dull round ears and flat eyebrows. But she knew, as did everyone, that to harbor the enemies of the Empire was death. How could one of the most pre-eminent nobles on Romulus harbor such as this in their own household?_

_He seemed not overly tall, and possessed a peculiarly ageless air despite his white hair. Yet Viktris had never heard of humans possessing stars in their gaze or hidden power in every movement. His green eyes intensified as they fell upon her. "Ah. The guardian." Abruptly he stood directly in front of her, though she had not seen him pass through the intervening space. "Name," he demanded._

"_Viktris i-Iuruth, lord."_

"_Past."_

_Suddenly Viktris felt as if her every work, action, and thought were drawn from her and laid before this man's feet. All her deeds, so carefully justified before, dissolved before that single word. She perceived the darkness of her soul, and recoiled from its depth. "I have done evil."_

"_Present."_

"_I take payment on behalf of those too cowardly to perform their own evil deeds, and take the burden of their guilt upon my soul." She snapped her mouth shut, eyes widening in astonishment. It seemed as if those words were pulled from her subconscious mind by this mysterious man, and she felt helpless before it._

"_Future."_

"_I have none." Suddenly, Viktris knew the emptiness of her existence, and cried silent horror against the revelation._

_His eyes flashed – literally. "Then give it to me."_

"_Your will, my lord," she murmured as she bowed to him, realizing that with little more that that statement, Viktris had given her entire life to this man. What powers did he possess?_

_The man turned to Saehir. "Summon your sister, beloved. It is time." He met Viktris' gaze. "I foresee trouble in my children's lives. You must be there to save them at the proper time." His manner grew stern, accepting no refusal. "Go with Sienae, learn what you must, and remember my words."_

_Viktris bowed her head. "Aye, my lord."_

Pulling herself from the memory, Viktris again wondered if she would ever see Viridian again. For over twenty years she had served Sienae, Saehir's twin, faithfully and without complaint. Yet in that time, Saehir herself had been murdered by an unknown assailant, the children had disappeared, and the s'Khellian ancestral home had been declared evil and condemned. Only Sienae's binding oath of absolute severance from her twin and permanent excisement of her sister's name from the House's records had saved her from a similar condemnation, and only decades of harsh decisions and constant sabotage carried out by Viktris had finally restored face to the name of s'Khellian and allowed Sienae to rise in the echelons of Romulan society once more. Being chosen for the Continuing Committee had been the final triumph of Sienae in the eyes of the Rihannsu, gaining her grudging respect, powerful allies and patient enemies.

_But then, that is the way of Romulus,_ she mused.

Returning her mind to the present, Viktris chided herself for drifting into the trance of memory. Casually glancing about, she found herself assessing her surroundings as if she were back in Iuruth: marking exits, noticing potential weapons, weighing the fighting abilities of their escort who led them to their temporary quarters on the _Enterprise_. Noticing an odd display on the wall she slowed down long enough to scrutinize it more closely without looking like she was trying to deliberately leave the party.

A tantalizingly familiar tingle ran down her spine, causing her to pull up short. Without knowing why, she turned to face the corridor behind them. In the distance she saw two people, a man and a woman. Dismissing the blue-clad male, Viktris felt a shock of recognition course through her body as she gazed at the woman. Vague impressions entered her mind: long dark hair, emerald-hued gown, pointed ears… Viktris blinked in wonder. _Romulan? Here? But…_

And then the more startling revelation struck her: _she knew this woman!_

As she opened her mouth to call out, they vanished, leaving no trace that they had ever existed. Glancing back at the main group, she realized that so little time had elapsed no one had even noticed her lagging pace, much less turned around to look for her. Wishing to avoid awkward questions, she quickly joined them again, hoping nobody would notice her agitation. The incident had left her in an unseemly state of distress, which she quickly strove to dissipate as they arrived at their quarters. Yet even as Sienae directed her in the mundane task of preparing the rooms for their stay, she kept one burning thought foremost in her mind: she must solve the mystery of the Romulan woman.

* * *

><p>Corikh studied his quarters as his bodyguards made their way through the room, scrutinizing every detail. After completing their search they nodded at him: no traps, no unpleasant surprises. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned to Jurak and extended his hand expectantly while his subordinate reached into his uniform and retrieved a small object.<p>

Expelling a tense breath, Corikh took the slim cylinder in his hands. Sliding his fingers over its metallic surface, his questing thumb found the appropriate button, which he quickly depressed. A slight humming emanated from the wand, causing them to relax minutely. Corikh laid it on a nearby table, smiling. It had taken him a great deal of effort to smuggle this aboard the _Enterprise_ without alerting either Serlin or that woman to its presence.

Designed to prevent electronic eavesdropping (such as by the _Enterprise_ computer), it also could act as a detonation device of tremendous power if matters did not proceed as desired. Despite the Proconsul's oft repeated orders to ensure the safety of the Romulan hostages aboard this ship, Corikh knew that Romulan supremacy overruled any other concerns. At any rate, Neral's attention was consumed by his quest to become Praetor, and not focused as tightly as it should be on the good of the Star Empire. Well, _Corikh_, at least, would not allow the Federation an unfair advantage.

Corikh turned to Jurak, inclining his head approvingly. "Sit," he ordered, taking a seat at the central table. Once they had settled, safe from prying ears or technology, Corikh initiated the meeting. "Observations?"

Jurak, a highly placed officer in Corikh's private intelligence gathering network and former _Tal Diann _agent, nodded slightly. "As you suspected, Serlin is more inclined to follow the lady's lead than your own."

Corikh frowned sourly. Serlin had once been his closest ally in all matter of dealings, not the least of which was ensuring that the Federation remained weaker than the Star Empire. It had been Serlin who had discovered Roswell's willingness to sell his loyalty for the right price. Unfortunately, the business relationship between himself and the Senator had suffered in recent times, and Corikh knew exactly who to blame.

The bitch. That sanctimonious, human-loving bitch: Sienae i-Ra'tleihfi t'Khellian. For reasons unfathomable to Corikh, the bitch had even interceded with the Proconsul on behalf of the half-human mongrel Sela, allowing the failed warrior to return to her rank of _erei'Riov_ - Commander, as these humans called it - in the Romulan military. It was in no small part due to Sienae's powerful influence that the Senate had finally voted to join in the Alliance with the Federation and their longtime enemies, the Klingons. It had been her growing power that had spurred Serlin to begin courting her, in hopes of steering her down more carefully chosen paths, but instead the bitch had reversed the gambit and begun dictating policy to _him_. It had been her goading that forced Serlin to acquiesce to this prisoner exchange in the first place!

He forced his attention back to Jurak as the agent continued his report. "Unless the Senator changes his attitude quickly, _rekkhai_, we stand a fair chance of losing our Starfleet 'guests'."

Corikh's face darkened further. Saatilvik, though supposedly empty of cities or towns, was the location of several of the Empire's more specialized prisons where the Starfleet captives in question were kept. In addition to the known prisoners, there were a few more that Corikh regarded as his own personal pets that only a select few knew about, including the Senator. Should Serlin take it into his head to mention those prisoners during the negotiations…

Corikh grunted, displeased. He had put a great deal of effort to acquire those individuals, and he was not inclined to release them to the Federation, particularly those that were already believed to be dead. Their existence would raise very...dangerous questions. Gesturing curtly to Jurak, he stated, "Work on him. Also determine the exact location of the Romulan prisoners." Jurak bowed his head in acknowledgment of the orders. Moving his gaze to rest on the third man at the table, Corikh said, "Any sign of her?"

Havlok, previously Corikh's master of infiltration and currently his second-in-command, shook his head. "I saw no indication of her presence, _rekkhai_. If she is indeed here, it is unlikely that we shall be able to determine her location immediately." Pausing delicately, he said, "I feel impelled to say again, I do not believe that it was Starfleet who removed her from the prison. There was no evidence of a transporter when she disappeared and—"

"Didn't rescue her? Are you mad?" Corikh demanded. "Somehow Baygard discovered that the girl was sister to her beloved adopted son! Why would an Admiral of Starfleet restrain from action when Picard has already proven that Starfleet can invade Romulan space whenever it so pleases? No," he continued, drowning Havlok's protests. "They've got her, either on this ship or one in Starfleet territory. Be alert – I'm sure Picard must know of her whereabouts."

"Yes, _rekkhai_," Havlok responded, false eye glittering. "However, if she is on this vessel, I suspect that Viktris will also recognize her."

"Why?"

Havlok lifted a hand and caressed the scar on his face, lingering next to his false eye. "She resembles her mother. It made the girl's torture during the past years more delectable."

Corikh grunted. "Has Sienae's wench challenged you?"

"She will not discern my presence. I only met her the once, and I have altered my appearance considerably since then." Indeed, he had changed substantially in the past twenty-odd years. Among the changes were a dramatic alteration of hair color – he had chosen to lighten it to an almost white shade – and a nasty scar from the injury that had claimed one of his eyes. The eye had been replaced by a prosthetic orb, which also served as a high-power scanning and analysis device. The scar itself was a legacy of his former employer, a last desperate attack before he killed her on Corikh's orders. "And I never made the acquaintance of Sienae herself."

Corikh pondered this. "Excellent. Continue with your observations."

"One last point, _rekkhai_," Havlok added. "The green-skinned woman, the Ambassador – she is an empath with ability close to my own level."

"But you can contain her?" Corikh asked quickly.

"If need be, yes. Although I would have difficulty fending against both the Counselor and the Ambassador in that capacity."

Smiling nastily, Corikh turned to Jurak. "I'm sure Jurak will be happy to fend off the Counselor in an entirely different way, if necessary, eh?"

Jurak grinned as he pulled a thin garrote from the collar of his uniform and flourished it. "Of course, _rekkhai_. You know how much I enjoy women – of any species."

Corikh chuckled nastily, confident once more of his ability to control the situation. "I love it when a plan comes together."


	10. Elsewhere 4

The room stretched on forever.

This description, usually employed by writers, historians and liars to convey a massive open space (or a trick with mirrors), here loomed essentially true in the absolute sense of the word 'forever'. Reality must sometimes be allowed to define itself, and the infinite of space and time both manifested in this particular manner: the Hall. The Hall defied any rational boundaries. Stars decorated it, supernovas heated it, and black holes provided spectator sport. Yet simultaneously, neutrinos danced in joy, quarks outpaced galaxies, and dark matter cavorted with desperate abandon.

No light illuminated, for protons had no power here. Darkness gained no foothold, cowering behind its own empty shadows. Time wailed helplessly as space bowed its head before the existence of forces far more fundamental and eternal than mere dimensions. In a supernal hush, the Hall whispered the secrets of all that had not yet been and would occur again in its endless mobius spiral of power.

Ingress or egress to the Hall, despite its simple complexity, remained a minor matter, provided that one possessed the requisite knowledge and ability. Members of the Continuum, by virtue of their identity, gained access at any time, yet their own inherent suspicion of lesser beings caused them to impose restrictions previously unknown to the chamber that slumbered until its task was fulfilled. Those Q not initiated formally into the Continuum's deep lore of secrets and purpose remained unable to enter, and others who sought power or control could seek it for eons and discover naught.

The path to total independence for a Q concluded when, after a series of less serious tests, the youth's tutor guided him to the Hall and left him or her there. If the young Q could leave under their own cognition, all was well and the Continuum gained an active member. Should failure be the result of the final test, however, the youth vanished, never to be found. The Hall had become inexplicably and meticulously bound to the Q Continuum, reflecting them as it tested them.

The Continuum was infinite, as was the chamber they had claimed, and therefore could only meet in its entirety in the confines of the Hall. They could never recall a time when the room had not existed, a matter of some consternation for the beings of self-purported omniscience. They presumed to claim knowledge unavailable to other sentient beings: that the universe itself defined infinity, and, by defining it, limited it. The most potent paradox in reality, this closely guarded mystery provided a source of certain aspects of the Continuum's power.

The Hall defined existence. And now the Continuum gathered to enforce that definition.

The Assembly called a convocation of its members to perform its primary role: the settling of formal feuds. Though the civil war yet caused much friction and mistrust within the Continuum, still they answered the formal summons that had been sent out by Adara's enemy. With the civil war only recently over, the Continuum was doubly sensitive to friction within their ranks, and thus gathered almost eagerly to arbitrate rather than fight. The assemblage of omnipotent beings, thus gathered, turned their collective penetrating attention to the Q before them.

Adara's rival, who had proclaimed his identity as Cetus, readied himself. In his natural form, he projected immense majesty: galaxies swirled lazily within his body, constellations glittered from his gaze. He presented his case not with words, but with the absolute veracity of core truths with which the Q had learned to lie when necessary. "I summon the Assembly to judge the rightness of my feud," he declaimed, following the required ceremony. "My rights of justice have been stayed, and I demand the removal of barriers. I call upon the Assembly to lift the strictures of _sabvasa_ and allow me freedom of action."

The Assembly regarded him impassively. Then they turned their collective mind to the other supplicant before them.

Q stepped forward. Neither the greatest nor the least in the Continuum, he nevertheless mystified many of the members with his strangely intense interest in mortals and frequent trips to locales outside the Continuum's normal purview. His continual arrogance, which stretched the boundaries of even the Continuum, only served to further isolate him from his fellows. He was _different_ than they, somehow, though they knew not how or why. Often his erratic behavior was attributed to his previous association with Viridian, also considered outside the norm of the Continuum.

He had been reprimanded by the Assembly twice, his powers stripped from him (later to be restored), and frequently ignored events the Continuum considered vital even while scrutinizing those deemed insignificant by his peers. The fact that he had played a major role in the recent civil war did nothing to ingratiate himself to the rest of the Continuum, and his role in the deaths of other Q failed to erase that reputation. Even those who had fought on his side for change within the Continuum during the war didn't fully condone his actions concerning Quinn and Trelane. And his recent experimentation with procreation also left many wondering at his motivations, abilities and ambitions.

_Well, _he mused inwardly, _at least Picard gave me plenty of practice in not being understood. _Retaining his human form to reinforce his peculiar affectation of independence, he waited with exquisite confidence, features painted with slightly condescending arrogance.

Although there were no leaders within the Continuum, there were those who were considered First Among Equals, as it were. Viridian had once held such a place of respect within the Continuum, but had lost the eminence due to an event with which Q only peripherally was familiar with, something involving a tragedy within the Continuum. Another of the Q that held similar pride of place was one who was simply known as the Arbiter, who sat as the spokeperson for the Assembly when it gathered together.

Now the Arbiter quelled all activity in the Hall with a single flared star. Glimmering with amusement, the Arbiter inquired dryly, "How fares your son?"

Q gestured expansively. "Absolutely brilliantly, of course. His mother assures me that Junior's development is beyond promising."

"And when did you last see him?" the Arbiter asked pointedly.

"Ah, well," he said smoothly. "I've been quite busy, flitting about the universe, making sure it all _works_ properly and whatnot. _Someone_ has to fill in until Junior grows up."

This statement failed to elicit anything but resigned silence from the Assembly.

Finally, the Arbiter broke the silence and said formally, "What is your purpose here, Q?"

Ignoring the exasperation and annoyance around him, he replied, for once equally formal. "I represent the other party in this matter, as well as his child through association."

For the first time, a Q other than the Arbiter spoke. "The half-mortal?" Q nodded, slightly discomfited at their foreknowledge of the situation. A sense of distaste swept through the Hall.

Resuming control of the situation, the Arbiter declared, "We shall discuss Viridian's lack of judgment in his decision to produce and then conceal his child later." Turning to Q, she demanded, "Is this the individual that you represent before us?"

Q nodded, well aware of the Continuum's prevailing disdain for mortals in general, and the shorter-lived mortals in particular. _Thank heaven no one but my wife knew of my plans concerning Janeway. _The concept of procreation between these limited beings and any member of the Continuum was moderately taboo, for it implied the existence of beings inferior to both parents, yet more dangerous than either. "The girl was instructed to seek the protection of the _sabvas_. She was doing so when the son of Cetus assaulted her with no explanation. She fled and claimed the status of _sabvasan_. I protest the unwarranted emotionality and violence of Cetus and his child, as well as his base cowardice in claiming to be the wronged party." Unable to resist tweaking their collective Continuum noses, he added in a sanctimonious tone, "Justice is my only quest in this matter. May the Assembly judge well and restrain Cetus from further rash behavior."

As he settled into quiescence, he could fell the rippling thoughts of the growing number of spectators. His lack of tact obviously surprised many, but he surmised the Assembly already predisposed to side against the girl, and so decided he had little to gain from unnecessary obsequiousness. The reputation of Viridian and the sudden revelation that he had spawned offspring on a mortal inspired great curiosity in the idle, and the 'audience' of this unusual case therefore loomed large and curiously avid. As well, in truth, relations within the Continuum continued to remain shaky between those who had fought on different sides in the war, and an event like this served to bring them together to focus their attention without division upon a single incident that ideally would prove to be nothing more than a passing amusement.

The Assembly paused in consideration. Then the Arbiter turned to Cetus. "What is the basis of your feud with Viridian?"

Cetus drew his dignity about him like a shroud of creation. "Early in the days of our existence, Viridian was widely held to be an influential member of the Continuum: wise, alert, and concerned with our future. In this time, a betrothal between my elder sister and Viridian came about through mutual agreement, and their union was joyous and lasted several eons." Q regarded Cetus with mild surprise. He hadn't known his teacher to have been involved with any female of the Continuum – indeed, any female at all, until certain recent events proved otherwise. "Yet despite their apparent happiness, Viridian neglected my sister, rarely spending sufficient time with her and often showing indifference to her needs." Cetus paused - a trifle melodramatically, Q thought - then continued, "She tried to hide her discontent from us, but it grew so great that it could not be ignored.

"Then Viridian disappeared without explanation. And my sister... my sister ceased to be." Now the rumble of displeasure grew louder, though the Assembly remained impassive. Q winced. _No greater crime in the Continuum than to willingly relinquish your own life_, he thought sadly. _Quinn reminded us all of that._ Voice dark with venom, Cetus concluded, "After that, I claimed feud upon Viridian and declared him anathema."

The Arbiter failed to react with any emotional response, instead asking coldly, "What is the relevance of your tale to your son's death?"

Cetus paused, obviously expecting more favorable feedback, then answered, "Viridian deprived me of one of my kin. A certain amount of enmity exists between our families. My son felt just in his—"

A quick flash of light cut him off. "As you wish." The Arbiter re-focused her attention on Q. "Why are _you_ here?"

Q assumed a confident posture to belie racing mind. "In the past, Viridian was my tutor. I deemed it necessary to protect—"

The Arbiter chuckled. "Don't lie, nameless one. You wanted to annoy Cetus."

Only slightly chastened, Q replied with aplomb, "Such action is not forbidden. Once I ascertained the identity of his son's prey, I of course felt an obligation to—"

Again the light flashed, his signal to stop speaking. The Arbiter summoned a field of silence around the Assembly. Before it took affect, she said, "The Assembly shall deliberate. Remain here; we may require further answers from you."

Q felt relief wash through him as he realized that they had not summarily dismissed him or endorsed the feud. Grinning, he decided that he had a chance after all.

Beside him, the stars within the celestial form of Cetus flared in barely subdued anger.


	11. Chapter 6

Serlin i-Mhiessan tr'Meihan, whose name was practically synonymous with power in the Star Empire, a politician of tremendous wealth and influence, and whose ties with the _Tal Shiar _were common rumor fodder in the streets of Ra'tleihfi on Romulus, approached the formal reception with anxiety marring his thoughts.

He knew not why he was plagued so by uncertainty. After all, as a warrior, he was considered to be without peer in his own age group, as his steady drilling with the specialized training programs on his lavish estates ensured that he remained strong against personal attack. His personal assets procured a lifestyle that even the Praetor would envy, had any save Serlin and a select few known the details. He had enough knowledge concerning his rivals in the Senate and most of the Continuing Committee to be able to leverage practically any advantage necessary to carry out his will. All in all, his future seemed assured.

Yet two blights tainted his optimism.

First, Sienae plagued his equanimity. He had intended to initiate courtship with Sienae to gain access to her inner circle and eliminate her as a potential danger in the deadly game that was politics in the Empire; to his surprise, however, the wooing transformed into a genuine effort to win her. Despite Corikh's disparaging comments of her talents, she displayed fine mettle and tenacity when confronted with seemingly insurmountable obstacles. The very fact that she had managed to drag s'Khellian up from the depths of society to supremacy among the Rihannsu in the span of only two decades bespoke a resolve so fierce and unwavering that he had been forced to admire her self even if he couldn't align with her politics.

Their courtship turned quite a few skeptical heads amongst their peers, and already bets existed concerning the nature of the end of the relationship: old age as mates, or a violent storm caused by their political incompatibility. Yet he found he couldn't relinquish her, and this disturbed him. His entire career had been based on his ability to control everything that occurred around him. When she had demanded to be included in the talks, however, he had felt unable to deny her, despite his certain knowledge that she would use her considerable intellect to push matters into a direction she considered beneficial to the future of the Empire as she saw fit – which might not be in _his_ best interests.

Serlin shook his head, clearing his thoughts to dwell upon the other looming crisis. _Where had the girl gone after her escape?_ No one just _vanished_ into thin air without aid. When Corikh had first divulged not only his erstwhile prisoner's mysterious disappearance but also what particular experiments he had been conducting with her, Serlin had been hard pressed not to physically assault the fool. Only Havlok's chilling presence, coupled with the restraint learned from years of mediating shouting matches in the Senate, allowed Serlin the control necessary to restrain himself and limit his anger to pointed questions concerning the prisoner's background and abilities.

Corikh's obvious evasions and half-truths increased Serlin's discomfiture, and Corikh's insane insistence that the girl was rescued by the _Enterprise_ and must be aboard only added to his misgivings. _If even half of what Corikh says is true, the Empire _needs_ her abilities,_ thought Serlin passionately,_ but under _our_ control._ He sighed inwardly. _I just wish Corikh would tell me more about who the girl is and how he acquired her._

Abruptly aware of the tension in his shoulders, Serlin forced them to relax. So far every theory that explained the wretched girl's departure seemed wildly unlikely. Until something was proven, he vowed as he walked into the reception area, he would not let the incident disadvantage him before his opposites from the Federation.

A chirping voice interrupted his musings. "Ah, and you are the inestimable Senator-Ambassador-Serlin of the Star Empire?" Serlin pivoted to encounter the broadly smiling face of a Revnik garbed as a Federation Ambassador.

Answering the question with a slight bow, Serlin formally returned the greeting. "I am indeed the Senator as named, easily estimable though I may be. The pleasure of this encounter is entirely mine, Ambassador…?"

"Ambassador-Hiran-Firrg, third son of the twelfth Branch of the Ranidan Tree of Wisdom, servant of the Second Sun, and Chief of those awaiting the enlightenment of the Seven Comets."

Serlin didn't blink at this elaborate self-description, which in any case was thankfully brief for a Revnik. Before the Revniks had realized the confusion such elaborate titles caused in others, introductions sometimes lasted upwards of an entire seven-course banquet. "Glad am I to meet you on this historic occasion, Ambassador-Hiran-Firrg. I am heartened at your presence at these talks."

Across the room a door hissed open, allowing entrance to the members of the Federation's team of delegates he had previously met. He studied them again, accessing his own memory for any additional knowledge of them.

Ju-galrianmei – a being known for level-headed negotiation with the charisma to sway those who refused to listen to logic._ A reasonable choice_, Serlin judged. Satisfied, he turned his gaze to the woman at his side: Trenata, green-skin strangely attractive even to the insular Romulan. Despite her obvious Orion heritage, however, her eyes scanned the room with avid intelligence, watching quietly with keen insight.

Placing an appropriate smile on his face, he stepped forward to greet them. "Greetings, Ambassadors." They exchanged pleasantries for a while, smoothly making their way to the small table of refreshments. As they reached it, Serlin stopped and stared. "What have we here?"

Hiran Firrg grinned widely. "I have prepared special _hurins_ for the occasion!"

Serlin, remembering with an inward wince the almost fetid odor emitted by these highly prized delicacies of the Revnik, gamely matched the others' smiles. Forced by diplomacy, he took a _hurin_ and ate it quickly, hoping that his distaste would be taken for eagerness. "My recollection of these treats is perfect, good Ambassador," he said, striving to remain ambiguously complimentary. "Rarely have I tasted their equal." Firrg beamed in pleasure as the group ate the little objects.

The door to the room hissed open again, allowing entrance to a human in Ambassadorial garb. He spied the group by the refreshments and strode over to join them.

"Forgive my tardiness, Senator," he said without preamble. "I had some trouble with my shower." As Serlin raise his eyebrow in polite inquiry, the human sighed. "For some reason my shower insisted on being heard as well as felt. The advantage gained by using sonic showers is quickly abated when one is exposed to a sound sufficient to shatter glass. I'm afraid I was forced to visit sickbay before completing my journey here."

Serlin patted him on the shoulder in a conciliatory fashion. "I understand. I have an indelible memory from my own childhood of an aunt who was convinced that she had the most beautiful voice in the Empire." He grimaced in recollection. "I have never encountered anyone else with the ability to crack sculptures with music originally intended to be a lullaby."

The new arrival grinned sardonically. "My sympathies." Issuing an odd little bow, the man added, "At any rate, my name is Ignacius Johnson, Ambassador to the Federation and free-lance rock grower."

"Rock grower?" Serlin blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. "Are rocks _that_ much different on Earth?"

The others in the team chuckled as Johnson explained with no hint of condescension, "Not Earth rocks, esteemed Senator. Selenian _klim-tac_ rocks, a rare delicacy to silicon based beings. It's actually just a lucrative hobby, but it teaches me patience most effectively, let me assure you." Serlin smiled in appreciation of the man's sardonic human. He found himself liking these individuals. A small part of him speculated that before his association with Sienae, he would never have let go of his suspicion, even of the Revnik. Now…

Perhaps he _was_ getting soft, as Corikh claimed.

Abruptly his levity faded as he considered Governor Corikh and realized the man's overly paranoid nature may yet doom them all.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"So you're saying that _Romulan_ killed the guy who skinned me?" Brent asked, disbelief parading across his face.

Killian glanced sideways at Brent, but remained silent. Instead Data, who had been explaining matters to him in hushed tones as they traveled through the corridors of the _Enterprise_, answered the query. "Correct, sir. Adara is a being of exceptional abilities."

Brent snorted. "Exceptional is right. I'm alive, no scars…" He looked at Killian. "And you were there when she zapped me back into the human race?"

Killian grinned at his choice of words. "Yes, Max. And it's a good thing she did. I need Navarre elsewhere, and I thought you would be the other best choice to switch off with me in ensuring the safety of your benefactor."

"That's where we're going now?" Killian nodded. "Good. I'd like to thank her myself." He glanced at Data. "I enjoyed that training program, machine," he said in a surprisingly mild tone of voice. Even Data showed some surprise on his face. "Care to try again sometime, hopefully without uninvited guests?"

Data grinned, and Killian chuckled inwardly at the open mimicking of Riker's own roguish smile. "I would consider it an honor, sir."

"Sir, hell. Call me Max," Brent said almost absently. Killian shot a surprised look at his second, but refrained from comment. _What else did that girl heal in you?_ he wondered.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Birge strode determinedly down the corridor, refusing to meet the sympathetic gazes of those she passed. Inside, she fumed silently. Of course, everything she did was silent. Since that blonde stranger had grafted noiselessness onto her, she had not uttered a single syllable or caused any sound at all, floating around the ship in an isolated world of mute stillness. Sickbay had confessed to ignorance, and her work suffered so much she had been temporarily relieved of duty by a reluctant Commander Riker.

She accelerated slightly as time nipped her heels. Rumor of Brent's recovery had circulated through the ship, invoking a fluttering hope that maybe there was a cure for her as well. She had finally tracked down one of the medical orderlies who had been on-duty when the mysterious Romulan woman had healed Brent. Obviously she had to find the elusive Commander Killian and convince him to help her.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Killian appeared in the corridor before her, standing casually next to a door. Her heartbeat accelerated as she rushed to stand in front of him.

"Lieutenant!" Killian exclaimed, obviously surprised. "What do you here?" She pointed at her throat. "Oh, right. Sorry." He grinned roguishly and winked conspiratorially, an unusual display of emotion for the normally reserved Elite. "I think I know what you're looking for. Go right on in." She hesitated, but he gently took her elbow and propelled her towards the door. "Go on. I promise I won't tell."

Hesitantly, she entered the room. Guinan met her gaze and smiled. "We've been expecting you," she said softly.

Birge nearly shamed herself with tears.

Ten minutes later, she stepped back into the corridor, ready to burst out in song. She found that Killian wasn't alone, but had been joined by Brent, Data, and the oh-so-handsome Lieutenant Navarre. "Commander!" she said joyfully.

Killian turned around, surprise evident on his face. "Natalia! What are you doing here?"

Confused, Birge faltered. "You let me in to see Adara, sir. Didn't you?"

For some reason, Killian shot a quick glance at Navarre, who shrugged slightly. "Ah. Yes, of course." Abruptly in control of himself, he said, "And it's good to see that I was correct in my surmise that Adara would aid you in your time of trial." He tapped the tip of her nose lightly as she blushed. "Now, now, Natalia. You know I'm trying to recruit you to the Elite's service. I'm sure Lieutenant Navarre" again that curious glance "would be happy to explain the benefits of being an Elite at a later time. Now, however, I have business of my own with Adara. Besides, I'm sure you have something important to tell Will."

Almost distracted from her purpose, Birge blinked. "Do you think Commander Riker will restore me to active duty?"

"He'd better," Navarre muttered.

Without looking Killian elbowed Navarre in the ribs. "I'm sure of it. Good luck."

With that, he gained a grip on his subordinate's elbow and hauled Navarre down the corridor. As they got further away, Birge thought she heard Navarre protest, "I was just practicing!" Then they were too far away to hear anything more. Brent just shrugged and entered Guinan's quarters, leaving her to exchange a confused look with Data. Then, deciding it was Elite business, she saluted Data and left to hunt down Commander Riker.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Have you figured out what the hell it is yet?" Riker inquired as the doors to engineering hissed shut behind him.

Geordi rubbed his temples with a hand. "No, sir. I've got nothing new from studying it except a headache." Returning his gaze to the table, he picked up another scanner, adjusted the parameters, and pointed it at the strange object that had been found in Ten-Forward during the hasty cleanup following Adara's dramatic appearance. "According to my implants and the computer scanner, it's some kind of compressed energy nodule. To everything else, it's a standard piece of rock common to the Romulan Empire. The only anomaly was that dried blood we found on it." Glancing at his superior officer, he asked, "Has Dr. Crusher analyzed that yet?"

Riker sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. "Human blood, that's all she can determine. The Captain wants results now, and we have nothing to give him."

Geordi resisted the urge to rub his eyes. "I only have a couple of tests left." He echoed Riker's sigh and glanced at a nearby workstation that was running through thousands of rows of numbers. "I'm measuring it for fusion or fission activity."

Riker looked at him sharply. "That doesn't sound promising."

"I know, sir. I've done everything else I know how to—" He was interrupted by a beep. "It's finished. Cross your fingers." He walked over to study the readout.

After he was silent for a few moments, Riker asked in a concerned tone of voice, "Geordi?"

"My God," the other man whispered.

"What is it?" Riker demanded sharply.

"Sir, if these figures are correct, that thing contains energy in an amount equal to that of a pulsar."

Riker stared at him. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know. But if something happens to it, this entire section of the quadrant could be obliterated. We'd better tell the Captain."

"That won't be necessary," said an unfamiliar male voice behind him. Geordi swiveled quickly, but saw no one. Turning back to the table, he looked down and gasped.

"What's wrong, Geordi?" Riker asked curiously.

"It's gone!" His hand scrabbled across the slick surface where the marble piece had been resting. "He took it!"

Riker glanced around engineering. "Who took what?"

"The—" he started, then paused. Confused, he glanced down at the screen in front of him. Long rows of numbers danced on its surface. Rubbing his forehead in frustration, he concluded lamely, "Never mind. I must need a break more than I thought."

Riker cocked his head, eyes speculative. "I just came down to find out if we can trust the replicators in Ten-Forward for the feast tonight with the Romulan dignitaries. But if you need rest, I can—"

Geordi shook his head. "I'll be fine, sir. And yes, all damaged machinery in Ten-Forward is back up and running at full capacity."

Riker nodded decisively. "Excellent. I'm sure the Captain will be pleased to hear it." With that, he turned and left engineering.

Geordi sighed and returned his attention back to the screens that told the story of his ship.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Viridian gently faded away, regretting for a moment that he had been forced to tamper with their minds. Dismissing the thought, he studied the marble in his newly formed hands, its smooth surface cool against his skin. _My daughter is talented indeed,_ he mused, _if she can construct this without guidance or full knowledge of her heritage._

Once again he wished that he could simply go to her and explain everything, take her into his arms, and protect her from his enemies. Recalling the mother that Adara so resembled with a strong surge of emotion, he abruptly found himself preparing to follow through on his impulses. Steeling his will, he firmly told himself, _No._ The urge passed.

Viridian sighed, a habit learned from his years on El Aur. _No,_ he repeated to himself. _Not yet. More must be done._ Looking at the stone again, he put it into a place from which he could readily summon it as need dictated, then willed himself to return to Merak.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Picard stared at Guinan, astonished. "Merak's _sister_?" She nodded confirmation. The candles in her quarters lit the room in a soft pearly radiance that added wisdom and mystery to her ageless face. Adara sat beside Guinan on the large couch while Picard occupied a soft chair across from them. The Captain had come to speak with them after the formal reception had ended, seeking perhaps reassurance that Adara remained inside Guinan's quarters, or merely a moment of respite. Picard shook his head in wonder. "I believe I shall be forced to believe in coincidence with more alacrity after this episode." Abruptly he became pensive. "Then Merak is also…"

"We're twins, Captain." Adara paused before Picard gestured for Adara to continue. "I do not remember our mother's name or her family. Little of my childhood remains in my memory," she added softly, pain in her gaze, "and I recall nothing of my parents save their features." She paused, then slowly pulled the top of her dress aside to reveal a peculiar scar on her shoulder. "This brand was placed on each of us shortly after our birth."

"You remember that?" Picard asked, shocked.

"Captain, you must realize that my first true memory was touching my brother's soul while our mother's heartbeat resounded through our world. We are…different." She indicated the brand. "I believe this mark is an identification of some kind, but no Romulan I have met recently has proven willing to discuss the matter."

He grimaced at the painful irony. "Has your father tried to contact you since your arrival here?"

"No," she answered, voice tinged with sorrow. "I can't even contact my brother, and our link is strong indeed."

"Odd to help you escape and then not try to join you."

"Yes," Adara said, face impassive.

Delicately changing the subject, "I actually came here to thank you on behalf of those aboard my ship, particularly Commander Brent and Lieutenant Birge." Adara blushed, a most becoming shade on her pale cheeks. "However," he continued in a cautionary tone of voice, "our guests have requested tours of the ship shortly before the feast tonight, and it would be difficult to account for your presence were you to be discovered. I must request that you not leave these quarters for the duration of our journey through Romulan space. It is safe, I understand, for Guinan to leave you alone for short periods of time?" he inquired.

Nodding sagely, Guinan said, "Yes, Captain, mostly because Adara has become more aware of her own capabilities in the matter of self-defense." She chuckled softly at Picard's unspoken inquiry. "I will return to work tomorrow, Captain, though I would prefer for the Elite to maintain their watch outside the door."

Picard nodded. "Commander Killian has volunteered the services of himself and his men for the duration of the voyage in that capacity."

Adara's face brightened. "Yes, Killian. I trust him."

"Indeed," Picard murmured, curious at her reaction. Few people seemed to enjoy the cold Elite Commander's presence, particularly the usually tolerant Counselor Troi. "Mr. Killian certainly is capable." Straightening, he tugged at the bottom of his tunic. "Your cooperation is most refreshing, Adara."

Guinan chuckled. "Unlike others of her father's people?" she asked gently. They all shared a laugh.

Abruptly Adara sobered. "I apologize for the inconvenience my presence presents, Captain. I wish…"

Picard held up a hand to halt her protestations. "I do not withhold sanctuary if it is within my power to grant it."

As Adara met his gaze, Picard felt a warm glow suffuse his body. "I know. And you shall always have my sincerest thanks for that, Captain."

"I'm hesitant to inquire, Captain," Guinan said, a look of consternation on her face, "but I just realized: is there a Ten-Forward for me to return to?"

Picard quickly reassured them of the complete recovery of Guinan's domain on the _Enterprise_. "So it doesn't look like you'll be getting that vacation on the beach you've been hoping for anytime soon," he joked.

Guinan laughed outright, but Adara merely look puzzled. "What's a beach?"

After a long discussion failed to enlighten her, Picard said, "I'll show you one on the holodeck when the mission's over, I promise."

Adara smiled. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"_Report!" a brusque voice demanded._

"_Life signs fluctuating but still within acceptable parameters," the Romulan said from behind the display screen. Then incredulity entered his tone as he continued, "We've never had another withstand this much stimulation before."_

"_Up by a factor of ten, initiate!" the bodiless voice commanded._

_Pain screamed through her body, depriving her of her senses before the agonizing onslaught. She clenched her eyes shut; strange lights danced across the inside of her eyelids. The cruel collar around her neck tightened slightly, forcing her body to remain still despite her overwhelming urge to thrash violently against her bonds. After an eternity the pain diminished, and she forced herself to begin breathing again._

"_Results," a different voice, detached and clinical, ordered calmly._

"_As predicted, khre'Arrain. Collar is maintaining integrity with no unexpected energy readings emanating from the girl."_

"_Excellent," the cold voice responded. The girl felt a hand close around the cellar. Still delirious with pain, she couldn't react as he caressed the smooth surface of the metal with a peculiarly possessive grip. "This beauty will ensure our safety, sir."_

"_You are sure it will contain her powers, Havlok?" the dark voice asked. "I can't afford to lose any more men, and this _child_ has already claimed ten lives."_

_The hand withdrew, to be replaced by a strange device that prodded her midsection and ribs. "I assure you, khre'Riov tr'Jeiai, it will perform as promised. The concept, when it occurred to me, immediately proved its inherent genius. It will grow with her and contain her abilities even after puberty." There was a dry chuckle, full of private malice. "Of course, that's almost a decade from now. Don't worry; this child won't harm her guards anymore." The girl on the table opened her eyes and blinked, striving to see through the tears. "Ah, she's aware, sir."_

_A male face hovered over her, dark with macabre curiosity. A fresh scar on his face reached from his hairline to a jagged empty socket. In one instant its callous savagery etched itself indelibly into her memory, and her last vestige of free will dedicated itself to remembering it no matter the price. "Incredible to think that such a small vessel could harbor such strange powers," he said._

_Another face appeared above her, an older Romulan with speculation on his face. "You were correct to kill their mother for spawning such creatures." He glanced at the one-eyed Havlok. "The other is dead, is he not?"_

_Struggling to maintain consciousness, she could barely discern his nod as the answer came. "He was left on Khalan III by the_ Kiltaak. _If that chunk of airless ice can't dispose of him, nothing can."_

"_Marvelous." Adara focused desperately on his words, not willing to lose her last vestiges of awareness. "Hopefully we will learn all we need to know from this one. Continue the experiment!"_

_Lost in despair, Adara plunged into the beckoning darkness._

Gasping, Adara pulled herself from the nightmare, breathing heavily. She waited, sucking in one breath after another until her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. "Maybe a nap wasn't such a great idea after all," she muttered to herself. She had retired after Picard excused himself, pleading exhaustion, but her nightmares continued to plague her. With a quick shake of her head, she sighed. "Healer, heal thyself." Lying back, she closed her eyes with firm resolve to dream of the happiest moment of her life.

With that, she drifted into sleep.

_She met his gaze, hand gently tracing his cheek. His bottomless eyes regarded her lovingly, stars stirring in their depths. He raised his own hand, caressed the smooth line of her brow, and cupped her chin in his hand. "Stay with me forever," he whispered, leaning forward._

_Letting her lips brush against his tantalizingly, she answered fervently, "Forever, my love." And, as their mouths met in unmitigated passion, his arms wrapped themselves and promised that nothing would ever harm her again._

Adara smiled, and she dreamed.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_khre'Arrain_ - Romulan equivalent to Lieutenant Commander - in this case, Havlok  
><em>Riov tr'Jeiai<em> - Romluan equivalent to Captain Jeiai - in this case, Corikh


	12. Elsewhere 5

Whimsically, Q conjured a soft chair and ottoman into the vastness of the Hall and settled down. Steepling his hands before his face, he realized that he could effortlessly become bored if he were so inclined. Quickly stifling the thought, he forced his outward appearance and the surface of his mind to remain calm and collected, unruffled by the many watching eyes. Casting a sidelong glance at Cetus, he noticed with detached amusement signs of the other's growing impatience.

Abruptly a feather light touch tickled his awareness, and Q found himself trapped in an uninvited vision.

_She met his gaze, hand gently tracing his cheek. His bottomless eyes regarded her lovingly, stars stirring in their depths. He raised his own hand, caressed the smooth line of her brow, and cupped her chin in his hand. "Stay with me forever," he whispered, leaning forward._

_Letting her lips brush against his tantalizingly, she answered fervently, "Forever, my love." And, as their mouths met in unmitigated passion, his arms wrapped themselves and promised that nothing would ever harm her again._

Blinking in bewilderment, Q belatedly attempted to conceal any overt reaction. _Where in the name of the Eldest did_ that _torrid moment from a romance novel come from?_ he wondered. The woman had seemed familiar, but not overtly so. As an attack it was laughable, and as a distraction, it was only slightly more effective. Pushing the strange incident from his mind, he forced his attention back to the present. And, in between one moment and the next, the Assembly returned.

Without preamble, the Arbiter announced, "We have questions." She oriented herself on Cetus. "You claim the half-mortal killed your son. Who initiated the duel: your son or the daughter of Viridian?"

"My son, Arbiter." Desperate to justify his son's actions, Cetus hastily added, "Yet she was not helpless when he attacked her, and—"

"The Assembly considers it ill-considered for an immortal to attack another without mutual knowledge of disagreement, particularly in light of recent events," the Arbiter stated calmly. "Why did you attack the _sabvas_ after the child became _sabvasan_?"

Reluctantly, Cetus responded, "I thought to persuade her to release the girl from her custody, Arbiter."

"No lies? Interesting. Thank you, Cetus. Wait here for our decision," the Arbiter ordered. Then, just as Q began a mental celebratory dance, she turned to him. "Nameless one."

Seeking to disguise his premature relaxation, he bowed elegantly. "I am, of course, at the Assembly's immediate disposal."

"What is your interest in the daughter of Viridian?"

"As I have noted before, her father—"

She interrupted him abruptly. "I did not ask why you intervened, I asked what your interest was in the female involved."

Uncomfortable with the implied meaning of the Arbiter's question, he cautiously said, "I assure you, it is solely out of obligation to her father that I chose to aid the girl. His advice proved invaluable in the final test."

"And before?" the Arbiter inquired.

Q shifted awkwardly. "I…wasn't the most restrained of youths, and Viridian helped me when—"

The Arbiter indicated satisfaction with his answer. "Most of us learned maturity as you did, nameless one: through experience." Again the shell of silence was summoned. "The Assembly shall now withdraw to decide the verdict." Again, the Assembly became unreachable.

Q sat back in his chair and gripped its arms. The question the Arbiter had foisted upon him troubled him. Why that particular phrasing? Abruptly he remembered the electric shock of a hand upon his cheek, and another question, _"Shall we meet again?" _Disturbed, he realized that his first physical contact with Adara refused to recede into emotionless memory. Something about her worried him, as no woman had before…

_Her skin was like porcelain, pure and unblemished as the light of a star_

Rejecting the unbidden thought, Q abandoned his introspection altogether and settled in to wait. _After all, at _some_ point I should probably start acting like the married Q I am._

But the image persisted…


	13. Chapter 7

"You look handsome."

Data, startled, turned to find Trenata standing in the doorway. "Ah, Amb—" he began, then saw her shake a finger in mock warning. "Trenata," he corrected himself, wondering why he had made the mistake in the first place. "You are lovely as well." And indeed she was. Her lustrous hair had been arranged in a carefully sculptured delicacy of blond wisps, a style that made her appear both vulnerable and inviting, and her clothing… Data could not quantify the difference, but somehow she seemed even lovelier than their rehearsal that morning before his meeting with Killian and Brent. "Your dress seems different from your customary wardrobe."

Trenata brightened with pleasure. "Why, thank you for noticing, Data," she said. "Do you approve?"

Stepping fully into the room, she twirled around lightly as the door hissed shut. The gown flowed to her ankles, exposing not an inch of skin from neck to toe. Yet the soft material clung to the curves of her body, and Data detected a satiny whisper as the cloth rustled with her motions. Completing her circle, Trenata stood facing him again. "Well?" she inquired with a lifted eyebrow when he failed to respond immediately.

"It is most...delightful," he managed after he discovered to his chagrin that his mouth hung slightly agape again.

Her eyes widened and the color of her cheeks heightened at his words. "How kind," was all she said as she walked towards the hastily erected music stand in front of the banquet tables. Data let his gaze follow her movements. The fluidity which permeated her walk was amazing, particularly in her—

Abruptly her voice invaded his thoughts. "We did agree to a dress rehearsal, did we not, Commander?" she inquired, emphasizing his title. "I don't want the dress to wrinkle before tonight, so perhaps we should get started."

Data hastily brought his gaze up to meet hers. A mysterious amusement seemed hidden behind her eyes. He had originally asked for this short rehearsal to test the acoustics of cavernous chamber, as well as to ascertain the feasibility of his playing in the rather elaborate Starfleet dress uniform the event demanded. "Of course, Trenata."

Quickly removing his violin from its case, he took up his position on the right side of the stand. As they tuned their instruments, he watched her hands effortlessly caress the long neck of her instrument. For some reason, the sight caused several unfamiliar odd sensations to move through his torso, particularly in the lower regions.

Forcing his attention to the music stand, he placed his violin on his shoulder. "Shall we play the Mozart and the Ronkar?" he suggested. The latter piece was entirely new to him on this journey – Trenata had suggested because it was the only Romulan piece ever adapted to Terran instruments. It had proven to be a challenge, but more invigorating for having discovered it in the company of such an accomplished musician as Trenata.

Trenata nodded in answer to his query. Bringing up her bow, she allowed it to hover teasingly above the strings before finally launching into the solo introduction of the Mozart.

Data listened, enthralled, part of his mind analyzing her performance, the sound of the live violin in the room around them, and concentrating on his entrance. Another part simply enjoyed the waves of emotion that washed over him. She performed exceptionally well, eyes closed and body swaying gracefully to the inherent rhythm of the piece. Soon his part began, and they wove their music with exquisite deftness.

Surrendering himself to the music completely, Data closed his eyes and allowed his emotion chip to influence his output as much as possible. They played through the Mozart duet quickly and launched immediately without consultation into the Debussy _Elegy_. They proceeded through their repertoire, each piece resoundingly perfect and whole – Glass, Schocteru, Votire, Ronkar – as it reverberated off the walls and shimmered into nonexistence. As they concluded the program, they allowed silence to consume the last notes.

Finally Data opened his eyes. Turning to face Trenata, he discovered her already watching him, eyes shining with moisture. Concerned, he asked, "Is there something wrong, Trenata?"

Shaking her head with a small sigh, she said, "No. People don't always cry from pain, Data." She stretched her arms upward (causing fascinating things to occur downwards) and exhaled languorously. Lowering her arms, she walked to her case and carefully placed her instrument within its waiting folds. "Have you never cried?"

"Once," he admitted. Her interest sharpened, compelling him to elaborate. "After the destruction of the _Enterprise_-D, Counselor Troi and I conducted a search for viable materials remaining in the cargo bays. My tricorder detected a weak life sign in a container which turned out to be my pet cat Spot." He stopped, the relief he had felt once more overwhelming him.

"And you cried from joy?" she said, a gentle smile on her face.

At the word, Data straightened. "Joy. Yes, that is precisely what I felt."

"Well, that is what I felt as a result of our performance with each other. We make beautiful music together, you know."

Data nodded slowly. "Our respective techniques do work together relatively well, I must admit."

She blinked. "Hardly an emotional reaction, Data, but an eminently logical one." Data didn't reply, but began to put his own violin away. His case clicked closed, but still he could not meet her gaze. Concerned, Trenata said, "Data? Is everything okay?"

Suddenly he turned to face her. "What is wrong with me?"

She leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

He stood up, unfamiliar sensations roiling through him. "You asked me earlier in this journey of my experiences with love and hate. I replied that I had never experienced love, only hate. Even recently, I felt hate towards that bastard that almost killed Brent because—"

She quickly stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. "Slow down, Data. You are talking about man that Adara killed? The one that attacked you and Commander Brent?"

Data whirled to face her, not bothering to conceal his self-loathing. "I hate him. And I hate _why_ I hate him. What he did to Commander Brent was…reprehensible, but I truly hate him for making me choose between staying and helping someone in need, and fulfilling my duty as an officer of this vessel."

She took his hands between her own. "And you're afraid that you may have made a logical choice, but not an emotional one?"

Data looked at her in surprise. "How did you know that?"

She smiled. "Most people who reach your rank have already dealt with situations like this long before now and have learned to keep, at least in these matters, their logic and emotion in disparate compartments of their decision-making process. You, on the other hand, have had an entirely new world thrust upon you. I would be surprised if you did not now begin to feel the effects of choosing between training and emotions." Raising her hands to either side of her face, she said gently, "No, Data, there is nothing wrong with you. You're just becoming more human."

He stared at her incredulously. Then, hesitant, desperate, unsure of what he asked for, he whispered, "What about love?"

Trenata held his gaze steadily, not speaking for so long that Data began to wonder if he had said something wrong. Then, slowly, deliberately, she clasped her fingers behind his neck and kissed him. Caught unawares, Data found that the only way to keep his balance was to put his arms around her. She pulled him closer, until he felt the heat of her body all along the length of his own. His emotion chip seemed to explode, flooding his neural net with exquisite, unfamiliar sensations, passions infinitely more satisfying than the twisted promises of corporeal gratification promised by the Borg Queen.

After an eternity of indescribable bliss, she pulled away from him. He looked down at her, her hair shimmering in the starlight, eyes wide and glistening, and wanted to hold her thus forever. "Well?" she inquired, eyebrow raised.

Data had no response prepared, and had no program to tell him what to do. Suddenly, a memory of an encounter between Riker and an attractive female sparked itself in his memory. Cocking his head in imitation of the first officer, he said, "Your place or mine?"

Her answer was quiet, firm, and enthusiastic. Later, as they lay entwined upon his bed and her breathing filled the room, he decided that she had answered his plea exactly as he had hoped.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Which gown, my lady?" Viktris inquired, presenting two for her mistress' inspection.

Sienae studied them, lips pursed in contemplation. "I believe the scarlet one, Viktris. I'm in the mood for softness around my legs," she decided. Viktris returned the green gown to the closet and carefully hung the chosen dress on the small hook on the back of the bedroom door. The soft Romulan silk swirled as the air from the ventilation system disturbed its delicate folds. "Yes, definitely that one."

Viktris bowed slightly and removed the garment from where it hung. "Lady, if you will raise your arms," she said. Sienae obediently lifted her arms as Viktris slipped the cloth over her head and settled it into place.

As Viktris proceeded to adjust the fastenings in the back, Sienae asked, "Are you accompanying me tonight?"

Not pausing in her task, Viktris replied, "The music recital sounds intriguing, lady, but I do not believe it would be prudent to attend myself." Sienae detected a slight flush in her cheeks. "I would prefer to avoid the other Romulans altogether."

"Afraid of Romulan warriors starved for Romulan women?"

"Partly, lady," she answered, lapsing into silence as she performed some final adjustments. When she stepped back, Sienae moved to the bureau and sat before the mirror, awaiting the final touches of hairstyle and cosmetics.

Soon the comforting motion of a brush through her hair began its soothing rhythm. As small sensations of pleasure ran down her back, Sienae closed her eyes and murmured, "What are you going to do, then? Just sit around the cabin?"

"No, lady. I have requested a tour of the ship."

"Well, you have the perfectly legitimate excuse for missing the tour they're giving right now – you were answering the tyrannical demands of your aristocratic mistress." They shared a smile through the mirror – if anything, Viktris was the more imperious of the two, feeling no shame about telling her mistress exactly when to eat, when to retire, and when to rise. "So, are you getting the full diplomatic tour or the gallivanting-around-the-halls-in-a-deperate-attempt-to-waste-time tour?"

Viktris chuckled. "The latter, lady. I don't rank as highly as your intended in the eyes of the Federation." Calmly she began separating Sienae's hair into small sections. Sienae noticed the slight twitching in her lips that indicated she was holding something back. Sienae waited patiently. Finally Viktris blurted, "Lady, you once told me that I may always speak freely without fear of repercussion. May I do so now?"

The uncertainty in her voice jolted Sienae into full alert: Viktris very rarely exhibited anything less than absolute self-control. "Your words are your freedom, and they always shall be."

Viktris took a deep breath before assuming a detached demeanor. "When first we arrived upon this vessel, lady, I saw something which disturbed me greatly."

Sienae had noticed small anomalies in her attendant's behavior during their time on the _Enterprise_ but had assumed it was the strangeness of the environment or the effect of their unpleasant companions. Puzzled at Viktris' reticence, she urged her friend on. "Continue."

Viktris bit her lip. Sienae saw a slight stain before Viktris licked it away hurriedly. "When first we were escorted to our quarters, I lagged behind momentarily to examine something of interest. I suddenly felt compelled to turn around. I know not whether I witnessed apparition, ghost, or strange new technology of Starfleet, but I would have sworn it to be your lady sister, Saehir."

Sienae turned to stare at Viktris in palpable astonishment. "What?" Viktris only nodded. Sienae sighed. "Tell me everything."

Without hesitation, Viktris complied.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

A quick check of his garments revealed that all was in place. Relieved, Serlin nodded at his escort, Romulan and Starfleet both, and started towards Sienae's quarters. _An unusual tour,_ he pondered. _Unusually _boring_. I just pray it was accidental and not deliberate._ Deep in thought, Serlin's hand drifted towards the tiny device in his pocket, then hastily retreated before the humans noticed the gesture. The tiny gadget was his quickest means of communication with _Riov_ Beltroc on his own vessel. Corikh, who had grown increasingly erratic throughout the day, had spent the better part of today trying to convince Serlin that they should demand that the tour include all areas of the ship, including the brig and tours of individual crew member apartments. Serlin had implacably denied these unreasonable requests, beginning to understand the fanaticism of which Sienae accused the Governor.

And then the tour had proven completely boring – no surprises, nothing he didn't already know. The only moment of minimal excitement had been watching a small crew of blue-clad maintenance men inspecting a malfunctioning wall unit in the middle of some residential units. They ignored the tour, and the tour ignored them, and everybody seemed satisfied. Shaking his head softly, he forced himself to realize that Corikh's demands were likely nothing more than the querulous anxieties of someone afraid of losing power.

Pushing those thoughts from his head, he realized that they had arrived at Sienae's cabin. Indicating to the escort to wait outside, he passed into the chambers of his lady.

A vision of beauty awaited him. "Sienae," he breathed, drinking in the sight of her. Without thought, he embraced her warm body and bent his head, seeking her sweet lips. A tiny portion of his mind marveled at the intense passion that he had never believed himself capable of before meeting her. The greater majority of his awareness reveled in the gentle aura of their intimacy. Breaking their contact reluctantly, he murmured softly, "_Sahe'lagga_, you are breathtaking this night."

She smiled at him, eyes luminous. "_A'rhea_, you are magnanimous in your praise." Lightly pressing her cheek against his, she turned and led them to the couch. "Would my lord wish to sit?"

Chuckling, Serlin lowered himself upon the soft cushion and drew her down beside him. "We don't have to leave immediately," he said suggestively.

Her smile warmed his heart. "You are correct. Nor should we." This time she initiated the kiss, running her hands through his hair. He was content to simply feel her warmth against him. For a few moments they sat in silence, reveling in each other's presence.

After a few moments, Sienae sighed. Sensing that the sigh did not stem from contentment, Serlin ran his hand down her arm comfortingly. "What troubles you, _e'lev_?"

Sienae turned to him, the fine line between her brows indicating vexing thoughts. "This journey… I feel disquiet, but I cannot place it." She grimaced. "I know Corikh accuses me of all but taking humans in my bed, but even I must admit that some notes of discord are showing through the façade of our hosts."

He raised an eloquent eyebrow. He agreed, though he could not pinpoint a specific reason. "Such as?"

She leaned back against him. "The crew – I would expect them to be tense, but Viktris says that when she moves through the ship, none of them will meet her eyes, or even greet her. She says they deliberately avert their gaze and walk faster to get away from her. If it were you or I, or one of our warriors, that elicited this kind of response, I would understand – but Viktris is only my servant. Though she is a Romulan, she should still not receive such…distrust."

Nodding his head to acknowledge her point, Serlin considered her words. "It is true I had noticed tension beyond what I expected in my assigned security detail, but I must admit I didn't give it particularly more weight than standard nerves around a recent enemy-turned-ally." He gently stroked her shoulders as he murmured, "What else have you seen?"

Pursing her lips, she said in thoughtful tones, "There are areas in the ship that have…I would almost call it battle damage. Dents where there should be none, wall panels that don't quite match each other, as if they were replaced or repaired – very subtle, but localized, and not throughout the ship." She sighed, eyes darkening. "But that isn't what truly worries me."

A sudden tingling rushed down his spine as he asked, "What do you mean?"

She turned her head to look at him, eyes abruptly intent. "Viktris saw another Romulan on board, someone not of our delegation."

Serlin's mouth went dry. After listening to Corikh's seemingly endless complaints of conspiracy, this revelation shocked him into suspicion. "Perhaps it was one of our comrades allowed beyond the brig on surety of good behavior," he said unconvincingly, forcing a smile. "Perhaps it was a Vulcan."

Sienae shook her head. "Viktris is trained in observation. She wouldn't mistake a Vulcan for a Romulan, or a female for a male. And all our comrades in the brig are definitely men."

Serlin inhaled sharply. "She's sure it was a woman? Who—"

She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "She didn't know." Serlin sensed the half-truth behind his beloved's words. _What do you know? And why won't you tell me?_ he wondered silently. Sienae continued, "I thought to ask the Captain about it later tonight."

Serlin didn't respond. _Picard has already proved willing and able to disregard our borders and our laws when it suits his purposes._ He shuddered._ Could Corikh be right?_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Picard listened to the music with pleasure, idly tapping the beat on his leg. Although his estimation of Data's musical ability had been considerable before tonight's concert, after this evening's performance he doubted he would be able to find an equal. Apparently, working with Trenata had opened up entirely new levels of emotional interpretation in Data's music.

As he observed them, he admired the seeming perfect fit of the handsome pair. Data's skin, somehow artificial when compared to that of a human, complemented the Ambassador's own green hue admirably. As they wove a scintillating web of music, violins flashing in the light and bodies emphasizing the passions of the moments, they seemed almost part of a single being whose sole purpose was to produce beauty.

The piece drew to an end with a furious flourish of notes that seemed inhumanly fast – _but then,_ Picard reminded himself ruefully, _technically neither of them is human_. After a timeless moment as the final harmonics rang languorously throughout the room, they slowly lowered their violins.

Picard applauded enthusiastically. As the duo graciously took their bows, he glanced around the room surreptitiously, curious of the others' reactions. Troi seemed enraptured, a slight flush of pleasure suffusing her face and neck as she firmly brought her hands together. Riker, never shy about voicing his opinion that only jazz deserved praise, seemed almost astonished at his own enjoyment of the concert. The other members of the Ambassadorial team beamed with pride.

Turning his attention to the Romulans, he attempted to gauge their reaction. Sienae smiled in admiration, her own applause firm if restrained. Serlin, apparently distracted, applauded almost perfunctorily. Corikh merely glowered, arms folded immobile across his chest.

_I suppose music doesn't always soothe the savage beast,_ though Picard ruefully.

As the applause drew to a close Picard stood. "There shall now be an intermission of fifteen minutes before the food is served," he announced. As Trenata accompanied Data to the exit so he could assume his place on the bridge during the banquet, he noticed the extra solicitation with which Data treated the Orion woman. He smiled: it appeared that the android had learned far more than was displayed in the recital. Thinking of the shameless matchmaking that had overcome his senior officers and the delegation – and, he had to admit truthfully, himself – he was perversely pleased that something special had indeed come of their association.

Discreetly averting his gaze, he began walking towards his seat. Deanna Troi intercepted him, expression serious. Picard experienced a quick flash of concern as she drew close enough to speak. "What is it, Counselor?"

Speaking in hushed, cautious tones, she said, "I sense a difference in Senator Serlin this evening. An extreme…disquiet, and a new sense of mistrust."

"Mistrust?" he inquired, alert to Troi's ability to discern minuscule changes in behavior. "Towards the Federation? Or towards someone in particular?"

"It is…difficult to fully pinpoint a single emotion in a Romulan, but…" She glanced to where Serlin stood in isolated discussion with Corikh. "Previously the Senator always engaged in conversation with the Ambassadors. Tonight, he has only engaged in conversation with his countrymen." She held his gaze with her luminous eyes. "Be careful, Captain. It's almost as if he's looking for reasons to hate _you_."

"Me?" Picard asked, surprised.

Troi nodded mutely, then turned and moved to her seat without another word.

Picard took his place at the table, fighting the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Determined to do nothing which would agitate the Senator further, he quietly watched as everyone finished their polite conversation and found their way to their seats. Deeming everyone ready to begin, he picked up the elegant crystal goblet in front of him and held it high.

"To peace, health, and prosperity for all our peoples. May the friendships formed here bring our nations closer together," he proposed with a gentle smile. The others reached down and clasped their own goblets.

All but two: Serlin and Corikh. Peripherally he saw both Troi and Trenata flinch in response to something only they could perceive.

Before Picard could respond to the Romulan's reticence, Hiran Firrg chirped, "What is wrong, friend Senator-Ambassador-Serlin? Has something occurred to offend you?"

Serlin turned to face the Revnik, cold heat burning in his eyes, but remained silent. Sienae, obviously impatient, peremptorily picked up Serlin's glass and presented it to him. "Will you not join us in the good Captain's toast, _Senator_?" she said, a mild admonition in her tone.

Picard blinked. Never during the entire voyage had Sienae pulled rank. Her choice to do so now worried him far more than Troi's or Trenata's reactions.

Serlin turned to her, gaze brooding. "Do not speak to me of our 'good' Captain, Senator Sienae t'Khellian."

The Romulan woman drew back from the barely contained hostility in his voice. Cocking her head slightly, Picard saw a ripple in her jaw muscles as she briskly retorted, "What are you talking about? I only _suggest_ that he be treated with the courtesy he—"

"_Silence_," Serlin snarled, shocking everyone. "Do not speak in defense of this thief." Before Sienae could respond, her eyes widened in shock, Serlin moved his gaze to meet Picard's own, and Picard saw the deadly knowledge in the other's eyes. _He knows of Adara_, Picard realized, _and it has poisoned his mind against us._ Suppressing the shudder that trickled down his spine, Picard maintained his composure beneath that acid scrutiny.

Then Corikh spoke, voice harsh with malice. "Apparently the Federation has been an apt pupil to the treachery of Klingons, proffering the closed hand of peace while holding a phaser out of sight. Did you truly believe that your illicit actions would not be discovered, Picard?"

Ju-galrianmei spoke, deep voice placating. "Whatever your suspicions, gentlemen, these public accusations bestow little honor upon you. Perhaps it would be best if this matter were discussed in private."

"_No!_" snarled the warrior. The animosity in his voice charged the room with tension. "We shall deal with this now." Facing Picard, he declared, "You have in your possession property stolen from the Empire. You will return it to us or pay the consequences."

Attempting prevarication, Picard began, "I assure you that the _Enterprise_ contains no stolen property…"

"Enough," Serlin barked, cutting him short with a harsh gesture. "A highly dangerous prisoner disappeared from the Empire's prisons on Saatilvik after the Federation had arranged these negotiations. She is aboard this ship. You will release her into our custody." He paused, then concluded, expression set, "We shall accept nothing less than full cooperation in this matter, Captain."

Picard hesitated, realizing that he had just been handed a political photon torpedo. Obviously Corikh and Serlin had come to the conclusion that he had been responsible for Adara's escape from her prison. Had that been true, Picard knew that he would have been obliged to hand her over to her prior captors. Indeed, for the peace of the mission and the good of the Alliance, that remained the most expedient action, for it would appease Serlin's suspicion and allow the talks on Romulus to continue with some mild repercussions.

_I cannot_, he realized. _She has my promise of protection._ Besides, he hadn't aided her. Perhaps if Adara demonstrated her abilities freely, it would convince Serlin (if not Corikh) that she hadn't required any additional aid above her own abilities to effect an escape.

"Well, Picard?" Serlin inquired curtly.

Picard placed his glass on the table before him. "I will not deny her presence aboard this vessel," he stated. "However…"

Corikh's eyes widened at this admission. "Then you confess your calumny!"

Picard ignored the interruption and kept his attention focused on Serlin. "However, Starfleet was not in any way responsible for her disappearance, Senator. She came upon our vessel using her own methods and begged protection from those who pursued her."

"And you granted her sanctuary?" Serlin sneered contemptuously, confirming Picard's suspicions. "Did you not guess that those looking for her would turn out to be the very beings that you would need to deal with once within our borders?"

"Do you truly think me foolish enough to bring her back to your territory if I were indeed responsible for her escape, Senator?" He saw a flicker of doubt in the Romulan's eyes. Pressing his advantage, he continued, "Her enemies were known to us. They were not Romulan, but members of another race that held a personal grudge against her father. If you wish, I will arrange a meeting between yourself and Adara, but I regret I cannot release her from my protection as of yet."

Serlin met his eyes, probing for deceit or dissembling. Picard peripherally noticed Troi minutely relax, indicating that Serlin's own disposition was gentling. At that moment, however, Corikh hissed, "Don't listen to his lies, Serlin. Naturally they would have conjured up some construct of deception to shadow their own guilt." With cunning glittering in his eyes, Corikh added, "How could they possibly know the identity of her father, eh? None even on Romulus could pinpoint his name or origin, and the whore-mother never admitted who had put the bastards inside her. This Captain has already proven to be a thief; why believe his stories?"

Serlin pondered Corikh's words, then nodded – reluctantly, or so it seemed to Picard. "Adara appears to be full Romulan. Do you again seek to deceive me, Captain?" he asked sadly.

Sienae stirred from her shock. "The father of my niece and nephew was not Romulan, and my sister was no whore. Stop acting as Corikh's puppet and—"

"Silence, woman!" Serlin snapped. "I have had enough of your interference!"

Complete silence descended as even Corikh looked askance at Serlin's strong rebuke. The lady drew herself up to her full height, which Picard abruptly realized matched the Senator's own. Her eyes flashed dangerously in contrast to the deadly steadiness of her voice. "Very well, Senator. I suppose I should have expected nothing better from a peasant such as you save vituperative derogation of my family and churlish incivility to our hosts." Casually she emptied the contents of her glass onto Serlin's head. As he spluttered in anger, she raised her hands to her head and pulled viciously at the silver coronet nestled in her hair, indifferent of the damage her movements caused to its delicately sculptured balance. Finally wrestling it free, she held the circlet in front of the dripping Senator's face and broke it in twain, dropping the remnants at his feet. "I will interfere in your life no more."

The Senator gaped at her. "Sienae, I—" he began, then stopped as she slapped him resoundingly across his face. Without another word, she turned and marched from the room, her lone bodyguard scrambling to keep pace with her.

Serlin stared after her in silence for a few moments, then reached down and picked up the pieces of the ruined circle. Staring at them blankly for a while, face devoid of emotion, he finally tucked them gently into the recesses of his clothing and extracted a small communicator. Meeting Picard's gaze with a peculiarly neutral expression, he activated it. "_Riov Beltroc, aeh'lla'hnah. Sthea'hwill_."

"_Daie, Rekkhai_," a voice said tinnily, quiet yet clearly audible in the stillness of the banquet room. Troi gasped, and Picard turned to the window in time to see one of the Romulan escort vessels shimmer into nothingness.

Replacing the object, Serlin calmly said, "This ship is now under the purview of the Romulan Empire. All people aboard it are considered prisoners of the state, your fates to be decided by trial upon our arrival at Romulus. Surrender without resistance, and I will promise no deaths until after the trial." Not deigning to speak of what would happen should they resist, he added, "The choice is yours, Captain."

As if on cue, Data's voice echoed over the comm. "Bridge to Captain Picard."

"Picard here," he responded hollowly.

"Sir, half of our escort has left the port nacelle formation and cloaked. The second ship has raised shields and readied weapons. They are demanding immediate surrender." There was a pause, followed by, "Awaiting orders, sir."

Picard glanced at Ju-galrianmei, who spread his hands to indicate that he was forced to rely on Picard's discretion. Closing his eyes, he desperately wished for a sudden flash of insight that would lend him the wisdom to choose correctly. He knew that Serlin was not bluffing: he was willing to die, along with all the Romulans on board, in the name of his newfound emptiness. Opening them again, he searched the Senator's face.

Finding only implacable conviction, Picard inhaled deeply. "Leave my people and my ship out of this," he requested softly.

Serlin shrugged indifferently. "As you wish. But I shall hold you and your officers fully responsible for the disgraceful actions of Starfleet in this matter, as the trial shall demonstrate." He glanced around the room wearily. "Your crew will act with discretion? Heroics can be so tiresome."

Thinking quickly, Picard said, "If you wish, my last command to them will ensure their cooperation with you, as long as it will not violate Starfleet's integrity."

Corikh growled, "I do not trust him, Serlin."

Sighing heavily, Serlin said only, "Very well, Captain." He leveled a speculative look at the delegation. "The Ambassadors shall enjoy our hospitality as well, I think."

Wondering at his own sanity, Picard said succinctly, "Picard to bridge: signal our surrender."

The pause that followed filled the room with tension. The Data replied, tone formal, "Aye, sir. Now relaying message."

Serlin smiled dispassionately. "That wasn't so hard, was it, Captain?" Picard, who felt as if he had been kicked in the gut, didn't answer. Shrugging, Serlin turned to Corikh, who signaled the Romulan bodyguards to disarm the security teams and surround the senior officers. As Picard allowed himself to be pushed into the center of the circle of prisoners, a tiny electric spark shocked the inside of his cheek. Remembering belatedly the tiny communicator the Killian had given him an eternity ago, he opened his mouth slightly to ensure he could hear the message.

"Picard, this is Killian. I've got trouble down here – one of the Q showed up and tried to—"

"What is that noise?" snarled one of the Governor's bodyguards, scar on his forehead darkening in suspicion. One of his eyes gleamed oddly as he sought to investigate the source of the sound. Picard hurriedly clenched his jaw and covered the communicator with his tongue. Silently cursing the interruption, Picard waited as the white-haired Romulan swept his gaze over the crowd. Finding nothing suspicious, he grunted and signaled the other three guards to keep their phasers at the ready position. As Serlin announced the new situation on a ship-wide channel and instructed crewmembers not to do anything rash, Picard set his jaw stubbornly. He wasn't giving up yet. Before Serlin signaled him to his side to coach him on his last command to the crew, he lightly tongued Killian's device and said as quietly as he deemed feasible, "Lieutenant Killian, remember your orders." A tiny spark answered him. Satisfied, Picard walked towards Serlin, weary visage concealing a silent patience.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_Sahe'lagga_ - Passion flower

_A'rhea - _Dear heart

_E'lev_ - My love

_Riov Beltroc, aeh'lla'hnah. Sthea'hwill_ - Captain Beltroc, engage cloak at once

_Daie, Rekkhai_ - Yes, sir


	14. Chapter 8

Adara met Guinan's gaze. "Tell me."

Guinan sighed. "You won't like it."

She shrugged. "I already know the moral depths into which Romulans can descend. I may as well learn about the other part of my heritage."

Guinan sighed. "My knowledge is limited, Adara. Your father was much involved in my training, but the lessons involved little in the way of Continuum history. What little I garnered, however, indicated that the Continuum act as guardians – of what, I can't imagine. Yet the guardianship is also in part an atonement for some long past indiscretion. Because this duty is so far outside the realm of mortals, they tend to be capricious, indifferent, or outright malicious to the 'lesser' races. The Q you met earlier is a prime example."

A bemused expression came over Adara's face before her focus sharpened. "What do you know of _him_?"

"Very little, despite the fact that I first made his acquaintance almost two centuries ago," said Guinan. "We share a relationship comprised mainly of mutual antipathy. His interest in the _Enterprise_ started before I arrived. Apparently he was tutored by your father, who inspired some unusual loyalty, but most often he presents himself as…" She paused, then decided not to temporize. "The truth is that he is a self-centered, egotistical, amoral being who is convinced that mortals are useless and weak, if occasionally interesting. The restraint that he has demonstrated towards you can be considered nothing short of remarkable."

"What do you know of his past?" she demanded, eyes brilliant.

"Again, only a small amount. He had the unfortunate duty of having to destroy a youthful Q named Trelane after the latter managed to subdue the entire Continuum and began destroying the barriers between realities."

Adara blinked. "The _entire Continuum?_ How?"

"I never truly understood that aspect of the situation. My impression was that Trelane had discovered some forbidden source of power and tapped into it." She swallowed, remembering the chaos that had confounded the _Enterprise_ at the time. "Q, not being my closest confidant, revealed little of the matter to me."

After regarding Guinan in stillness for a few moments, Adara abruptly leaned forward and asked, "Can the Continuum manipulate time?"

Unprepared for this new line of questioning, she said, "I know that they can move from one point of time to another. Q has demonstrated as much to Picard."

"Can they change their own past or the past of other members of the Continuum?" she asked intently. "Can they divine their own future or otherwise affect it?"

Guinan blinked. "I'm afraid I don't know."

Adara nodded shortly, settled back into the folds of the chair, and steepled her hands before her face. Sensing the Romulan's wish for solitude, Guinan moved her attention to her meditation sculpture. Focusing on the statue, she found herself relaxing as she struggled to discern what form her senses would divine. Her shoulders began to relax, and she could feel blessed serenity soothe her psyche.

Her eyes widened as the statue suddenly began to expand and glow white. Taking a step back, she barely had enough time to put her hands in front of her face for protection before it detonated, sending shards of stone flying through the air.

Suddenly Adara was at her side. "It's him!" Without another word of explanation, she grabbed Guinan's arm and pulled her away from the seething cloud of glittering light that had taken the place of the sculpture. "Come on!" As they raced away from the amorphous blur, a streak of energy sizzled past them. A fusillade of lethal bolts struck the curtains and candles, wreaking mass destruction.

As one of the attacks came uncomfortably close, Guinan pulled Adara to a halt. "Wait!" she yelled over the crackle of the scintillating barrage, pulling Adara down. "Get down! I'll protect us!" Putting her arms around the huddled Romulan, she quickly summoned up dimly remembered rituals of _sabvasa_ and utilized every trick at her disposal to shift the attacks away from them.

The shower of assaults abruptly halted. Their assailant advanced towards them, gradually assuming a humanoid form as he approached. Insanity danced in his eyes and fire burned in his fists as he stopped two paces away from where they pressed themselves to the floor. Then he grinned horribly and said, in tones that Guinan was certain could be heard throughout the surrounding rooms, "_Die, spawn of Viridian!_"

Pointing his hand at them, a fierce glow began to build. Guinan quailed. For some reason, she was certain that an attack from this lunatic Q would be more powerful than the one he had used before. Tightening he grip on Adara, she felt the woman beneath brace herself for impact.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Enough of this nonsense!" Q jerked himself out of his reverie and looked around to locate the source of the outburst, quickly pinpointing the blame on Cetus. The other huddled in consultation with two of his sons. Q listened curiously to the tirade. "The Assembly is deliberately not interpreting my words correctly!"

The eldest son extended a cautionary aura. "Father, you mustn't speak of the Assembly that way. They can hear anything we say, and your deprecations won't improve your standing."

"I've already lost! Justice will not be done here," he snarled, ignoring his son's exhortation. Q experienced rising alarm, and swiftly began preparing for action. Continuing his ranting, Cetus indicated Q and said, "They seem more interested in that idiot's love life than they do in confirming the rights of my feud."

_Idiot? Love life?_ snorted Q, indignant at the implication. _The ignoramus can't even insult imaginatively._

The other son spoke up, attempting to placate his irate father. "You know that feuds have been discouraged due to the recent…unpleasantness. The Assembly perhaps does not assign it the same priority as you. You should be patient, and—"

Cetus fixed an insane gaze upon the Q before him. "I will have my rights. Even if I have to take them myself!"

With little more warning than that, he vanished.

Q sprang to his feet. "Are you going to help him?" he inquired.

The two Q exchanged a glance before one replied, "We will wait upon the Assembly's judgment."

"Good," snapped Q, then left, knowing where Cetus was bound.

As he materialized in Guinan's quarters on board the _Enterprise_ he found himself surrounded by devastation. Candles were strewn across the floor, wax left in their wake. Ragged cloth covered every surface haphazardly, ripped apart by the madness of gods. A broken sculpture lay shattered upon the floor. At the far end of the room huddled two women, and towering over them a crazily fluctuating outline screamed, "_Die, spawn of Viridian!_"

"No!" cried Q as he instinctively launched an attack upon the other. His opponent quickly turned around to face him.

Q fell back in apprehension as he contemplated the extent of his opponent's transformation. He had witnessed madness in the Q before in his pupil Trelane, but that insanity had been inspired by the Heart of the Storm, the black haven of destruction that the Q Continuum protected from external tampering. The dementia of Cetus, however, was of one who had allowed revenge to possess him utterly, creating a cycle in which thought begat passion begat reality. Q suddenly comprehended what it must have been like in the dawning of the Q Continuum that forced the Eldest to institute _sabvasa_ as a means to protect the species. Cetus appeared eager to destroy any who balked him, even should that mean expending the energy that was the basis of his own existence, a course of action that would surely kill both of them. Unsure of the other's capabilities, he hesitated momentarily before initiating another assault.

As he faltered, Cetus snarled, destroying several solar systems four hundred light years distant. "You dare to interfere again, nameless one? Your intrusion into my affairs has caused me much grief. You shall die as well!" And, before Q could react, Cetus launched his attack.

The bolt struck Q full in the chest, knocking him off his feet and pushing against the wall behind him. The wall, unable to withstand the forces piled against it, exploded outward, depositing Q in a pile of rubble that quickly pinned him down. Unable to concentrate sufficiently to extricate himself, Q struggled weakly against the twisted pieces of metal that bound him in a vain attempt to free on arm in feeble defense. Cetus came into the hall through the smoking hole in the wall and attacked again, laughing maniacally.

Agony consumed him; the only pain that compared was when Trelane had managed to completely rend his spirit apart, and it had taken him millions of years to recuperate from that murder attempt. Determined not to undergo that torture again, Q reached into the universe and gathered energy to himself. He then directed his skill towards shaping the energy into a shell of protection against complete annihilation. As Cetus braced himself to deal the killing blow, Q allowed himself to slip into dormancy.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

As Q catapulted unhindered through the wall, Guinan resisted the urge to rub her eyes in disbelief. When he failed to recover immediately from the attack, she felt her shoulders tighten in apprehension and struggled to her feet. She had never been his greatest admirer, but the other Q was brutally obvious in his attempt to kill, and Guinan found herself unable to simply stand by and watch. Before she had gone more than two steps, however, Adara shoved past her violently. "Hold! You shall not harm him!"

The figure stilled. "So you protect your paramour?" he responded, using the language of the Continuum. Guinan strained to follow the conversation, for her lessons in it had been long ago.

Adara sniffed disdainfully. "I don't know what you are talking about. But you shall harm him no further."

The other giggled, an eerie sound. "Him?" he said, dismissing the comatose figure of Q. "I'm done with him. I daresay it will be long before he dares to hinder me again." The Q's form solidified into a vaguely human shape as he slowly regained control of his emotions. "The sentimental fool has meddled for the last time." He turned to Guinan, addressing her in Standard. "Will you remove your protections? I ask you formally in the realm of _sabvasa_, for I wish to face my enemy one on one. The lives of the mortals on this ship are no concern to me."

Guinan jumped at a light touch on her arm. She turned to find Adara waiting calmly. "I am ready," the Romulan said quietly, so quietly that Guinan almost didn't hear her; certainly the Q would be unable to discern those whispered words. And suddenly Guinan realized that Adara _wanted_ to be free of the protections: one of the paradoxes of the defenses was that they drained power from whomever they guarded, weakening that individual. Moreover, she sensed that Adara spoke the simple truth. No longer the confused captive newly escaped from the Empire, she now appeared a powerful, erudite being ready to defend her own interests.

Nodding, Guinan lifted a hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Suddenly an enormous burden lifted itself from her shoulders and Guinan slumped in relief as a great weight was shed.

And raw power exploded into the being across from them, causing the Q to stagger backwards in shock.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Adara felt white-hot rage course through her body as she landed blow after blow upon her enemy, not bothering to use her hands to focus her attack: she had no use for such a clumsy and ostentatious manner of assault. Much more effective to simply cause a supernova to explode within him, or create a black hole deep within his being that would gradually deplete his energy and force him unto the point of catalepsy.

Her mind ranged afar, conjuring up more elegant methods of inflicting damage against her opponent. She extracted from his past the moment of greatest dread to flare before his mind with far more potency than it actually possessed. She assumed the siren call of death and despair from the endless reaches of emptiness and sent it screeching it through his form, uncaring at the wailing madness the action aroused. She delicately invaded his mind and ripped the hatred and fury from them, replacing them with only the fear and horror of those who are truly vulnerable, emotions she readily recalled from her years of captivity in the tiny room with a black door.

Minute bit by minute bit, she leeched from his awareness the invulnerability and comfort that the entire Q Continuum bore subconsciously in the smug satisfaction of their inner essence. In its place, she forced him to comprehend, at the deepest and most fundamental level, that _all_, even the Continuum, must one day perish.

Her opponent's appearance fluctuated madly as he struggled to deflect her attacks. His hatred became eclipsed by fear, and he began to realize that, even with the advantage of his years and experience, he could no more defeat her than a candle could a star. Sensing that she was toying with him, he cried, "Why don't you just kill me, half-breed? Without revenge I have no purpose." Anguish filled him as he screamed, "End my miserable existence as you did my son's! _Kill me!_"

His words caused a shock to run down her spine. Recoiling before the hatred and torture in his eyes, her mind recalled _the sickening impact of stone against bone, the sudden vacancy in the young Q's gaze as he toppled like felled log. The sudden awareness of his death shook her body, and she knew that the instant of his demise would haunt her forever._

Her eyes locked onto Q's still form crumpled within the remnants of the wall, and a feeling of futility welled up within her. She realized that this confrontation accomplished nothing save perpetuating the hatred and violence already around them. Meeting the other's glare, stunned at the strength of her epiphany, she found herself responding, "No. I will not." The Q's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

Abruptly a voice rang in their heads. "You will return _now_."

Adara didn't resist as she was pulled _elsewhere_.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Viktris wandered down the corridors of the _Enterprise_, silently accompanied by her tourist guide, a human woman who had introduced herself as Lieutenant Natalia Birge. Her gaze idly analyzed the details of the ship around her: the location of information panels, the placement of turbolifts, the quantity of access opening to the Jefferies tubes. Her deeply ingrained instincts of survival, born in the slums and augmented by Rihannsu machinations, noted all aspects of her surroundings and scrutinized them for routes of escape, possible weapons, and anything else that could be useful in the event of a physical threat to her person. They were currently in an area of the ship dedicated to housing quarters for the crew, which, judging from the lack of people in the corridor, were currently unoccupied, yet for some mysterious reason her human guide seemed a trifle nervous as they paced along the corridor.

In an effort to waste as much time as possible before returning to the feast to attend her mistress, she had asked the lieutenant to allow her to travel along each corridor's entire length. She had been quite forthright in explaining her motivation for a lengthy tour. Birge had complied with her desire by lingering as much as possible at any point of interest in the hallways, answering questions as thoroughly as discretion allowed, and generally taking much more time than was usual for a normal tour, gaining Viktris' undying gratitude.

Yet as soon as they had debarked from the turbolift for their current stage of exploration, Birge had seemed anxious to move on as quickly as possible. The signs of this distress, though subtle, fairly screamed out loud to one who knew what to look for: the eyes darting quickly across the walls and floor, her hands no longer relaxed but clasping and unclasping, her lips frequently tightening themselves against her teeth. In fact, her demeanor suggested that she was concealing something, which made no sense, considering there was naught here but empty rooms.

Viktris decided not to dwell upon her escort's abrupt nervousness and pretended not to notice it: whatever had inspired it was either not of her concern, or would eventually present itself to her scrutiny. _Trouble's easy enough to find without an invitation_, she thought grimly.

As if in response to her thoughts, a tremendous shaking almost knocked them from their feet. Birge snapped her attention forward, alarmed. Viktris, instantly alert, demanded, "What was that?"

Birge shook her head in genuine confusion. "I have no idea. There's nothing on this deck that could—"

Abruptly her response was interrupted by a voice that echoed weirdly in the corridor, as if its owner had vaulted over the horizon of lunacy and never stopped running. Rage permeated the air as they heard, _"Die, spawn of Viridian!"_

Instantly Viktris thought, _Adara!_ On the heels of this thought a voice that later she could not decide was her own or another's commanded, _Go!_ She launched herself down the corridor, heedless of the Lieutenant's orders to halt. Not caring as to the validity of what she had heard, she pushed her speed to its limit until she came in sight of a man standing in front of a door, swearing virulently as he attempted to open it. As she approached he whirled to face her. Seeing her angular features he immediately dropped into a lethal crouch.

"So it's _your_ people, is it?" he snarled. He didn't wear a Starfleet uniform but was dressed in an unusual dark blue jumpsuit. "I suppose I should have expected a stunt like this. _How the hell did you people get in there?"_

Viktris pulled herself to a stop. "I don't know what you're jabbering about, human," she snapped, "but the niece of my lady is in there and requires my assistance."

The man straightened slowly. "Adara is of the Khellian House?"

Viktris nodded impatiently, not pausing to wonder at how a human would gain the knowledge he had just demonstrated, her curiosity abated until she saw her mistress' niece safe and sound.

Abruptly Birge came into sight. Spotting the man, she asked, "What's going on, sir? The corridor shook and—"

The man turned around and kicked the door in frustration. "I don't know! All hell's breaking loose in there and the damned door won't—"

He was cut off as the wall exploded outward, burying him beneath it.

"Killian!" screamed Birge as she ran forward, heedless of potential danger. Therefore the bolt of light that shot through the hole in the wall caught her completely unprepared as it struck her full on the chest. She staggered back, collapsed, and slumped to the floor, affording Viktris a clear view of the shattered wall. Instantly sensing that she was here only to observe, she pressed herself against the wall and scrutinized the form that lay in the twisted debris.

It was not the officer in blue; she abruptly realized that this man had been blown through the wall itself. Considering the amount of force required for that to occur, she gasped in amazement when the man groaned and stirred slightly. His frail movements indicated his extreme enervation, and she fought away the urge to aid him, reminding herself to watch for potential danger.

Her choice seemed sensible when a strange form moved next to the body. It was not human, although the silhouette occasionally hinted at a similar configuration, and it pulsated with deadly energy. Viktris found herself reminded of Viridian.

A female voice cried out, and Viktris turned to find the source of the voice.

It was Adara, as she _should_ have been: tall, glorious, beautiful and lethal. All the promise of her childhood had been fulfilled, and her mother's features were obvious to those who bothered to look for them. Astonished to find her alive, Viktris nevertheless recoiled in fear as Adara amply proved herself to be her father's own. Trembling, she witnessed the confrontation with fascinated terror. Although she couldn't understand their argument, she quickly decided that Adara would prove overwhelmingly triumphant.

Then, suddenly, Adara stopped her barrage and sadly shook her head. As if in response, Adara, her opponent, and the comatose figure yet ensconced among the ruins of the walls shimmered and vanished.

Viktris stared at the spot they had occupied. Peripherally she noticed a dark skinned human step into the hallway and gently revive Birge, who yet lay on the floor. Viktris cautiously moved forward and inspected the rubble. No blood was upon its surface, although the force with which the man had been sent through the wall had been so great that Viktris marveled at the lack.

"Viktris."

She turned at the sound of her name, spoken by a voice that was etched into her very being. Quickly lowering herself to one knee, she bowed her head before the figure that had appeared behind her and said, "My lord."

_He_ stood calmly before her, garbed in green cloth touched with bits of stardust that glittered in the light of the corridor. His eyes were exactly as she remembered: the vast expanse of outer space enclosed within their limitless boundaries. After scrutinizing her momentarily, he asked gently, "Will you serve me once again? My child has need of you."

Viktris, meeting his gaze, replied, "I never left your service, my lord Viridian."

Nodding gravely, he held out his hand. Without hesitation she grasped it with her own.

Their surroundings faded into a blue blur as he took her beyond mortal reckoning.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Guinan watched incredulously as Viridian took the hand of the Romulan and vanished. _First Adara and the Q, now Viridian and a_ normal _Romulan._ Sighing, she turned her eyes to meet the gaze of the only other person remaining in the hall. The woman – _Lieutenant Birge_, she recalled dimly – blinked in equal befuddlement and shrugged her shoulders to indicate her mystification.

Abruptly they both heard a faint voice from the pile of broken wall. "If somebody doesn't get me the hell out of here sometime soon," a compellingly calm voice grated, "I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your lives and then go after your children and grandchildren."

"Commander!" Birge cried in relief, quickly dashing over to the ruined wall and carefully moving parts of it aside. "You're alive!"

In due course the disheveled form of Killian emerged from beneath the wreckage. His uniform was ripped in several places and he was missing part of the sleeve below his left elbow, but other than a heavily bleeding scratch above his right eye, he seemed robust enough, and his anger shone clearly from his gaze. "Of course I am," he groused in return to Birge's comment. "Death happens to other people, not me." He lifted his right hand and manipulated the fingernail of his pinky to reveal a small shiny object. Guinan blinked – she hadn't even known that he had a prosthetic finger. "Picard, this is Killian. I've got trouble down here – one of the Q showed up and tried to—"

Abruptly his message was interrupted by the harshly accented voice of a Romulan, audible to Birge and Guinan. "What is that noise?" a brusque male voice demanded. Killian quickly lowered the fingernail as if it burned.

"_What_ is going _on_ around here?" he demanded of the air. He focused on Guinan. "Where did the Romulan go?"

"Adara's father took her somewhere," Guinan informed him.

Further conversation was negated as a beep from the computer alerted them that a ship-wide announcement was about to occur. A strange male voice came over the speakers. "Officers and crew of the starship U.S.S. _Enterprise_: this is Senator Serlin of the Star Empire. The _Enterprise_ has been placed under Romulan supervision, pending the outcome of the trial of your senior officers upon Romulus for crimes against the Empire. Until their fate is determined, those of rank equal or inferior to lieutenant may continue their duties as dictated by Federation and Starfleet. Romulan guards will oversee your actions to ensure no betrayal. Your freedom is assured as long as you cooperate with our people. That is all." A click indicated the end of the message.

Birge's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "What-?" she whispered in shock.

Suddenly a tinny beep echoed from Killian's hand, which he still held suspended in the air. Hurriedly opening the secret compartment, they heard Picard's voice, barely audible, issue from it. "Lieutenant Killian, remember your orders."

Killian grinned hugely as he concealed his secret communicator again, the most open expression Guinan had ever seen on his face. "Very clever, Picard."

Birge looked at him strangely. "Why did he call you Lieutenant?"

"Didn't you hear the good Senator? He said that lieutenants may continue their duties as dictated by Starfleet. Picard effectively just demoted all my men to the rank of lieutenant or lower because I must always be the ranking officer on any mission."

Guinan raised her eyebrow. "Your logic smacks of sophistry."

Killian shrugged. "We'll sort out the details when we return to Federation territory." He rubbed his hands together. "In the meantime, I should concentrate on following my orders: keep my charges in the brig from leaving Federation custody." Walking over to the nearest Jefferies tube, he pulled the grate aside, then turned with an eyebrow lifted. "Coming? We've got to get moving before the Romulans can organize themselves."

Birge grinned viciously and climbed swiftly into the proffered tunnel. Guinan shook her head lightly and followed: despite centuries of observation, humans never ceased to amaze her.


	15. Elsewhere 6

Light and sound: brilliant flashes of color and keening cries of sorrow assaulted her being as she felt herself wrenched from one side of reality to the other, pausing only slightly to allow adjustment for the abrupt impact of unchanging truth and fact to merge into the combinatoriality of knowledge and wisdom.

Within her they warred: the ends of the spectrum that delineated the boundary between fate and chance, destiny and choice. Notions of futility and innocence quavered before the immensity of omnipotence and eternity, struggling to maintain the delicate balance that upheld mortal comprehension and sanity. Around her the universe laughed in condescension even as it howled its regrets into the endless reaches of the formless actuality that mortals, in their limited understanding, called time. A shift wrenched her being into a different plane of consciousness as what she had always been finally acceded to what she must become. Gazing into the dark mirror of inner truth, under the harsh glare of abrasive objectivity, Adara of Romulus ceased to exist.

And Adara of the Continuum opened her eyes.

Her opponent hovered nearby, attention fixated upon her. Yet, though she probed his thoughts, she could find nothing but an overwhelming regret. Before she could delve more deeply into his awareness, his focus shifted down. Glancing in the same direction, she found Q, still in his human incarnation, sprawled unceremoniously before her, completely motionless; even her mind could elicit no response from him. Abruptly worried, she knelt and shook his shoulders in an attempt to rouse him.

An imperious presence filled the vast emptiness around her (_the Hall_, she realized, accepting without question her sudden knowledge), forcing her attention away from Q's supine form. "You have dared to take our justice into your own grasp."

Her former foe coalesced into a more or less bipedal form, all rebellion and egotism gone. "Yes."

A ripple of surprise at this listless admission moved through the assemblage. The Arbiter's celestial form flickered in modest astonishment before she could suppress the moment of uncertainty, covering her confusion by stating calmly, "What reasons can you give to absolve yourself of this insubordination?"

The Q delayed his response, focusing on Adara. The full force of his haphazard emotions, acrid in their uncertainty, made itself clear to her as he asked plaintively, "Why?"

_Why mercy?_ The query rang in her mind. She regarded him, observing that his mien was obviously defeated not only in the physical realm but the spiritual one, and searched _within_ for the answer. Images flashed through her mind: her mother, crying in pain and humiliation before the viciousness of a bestial murderer; the years of subjugation and torture that attempted to remove all traces of _who_ and _why_ she was from her awareness; the insane hatred on the face of the blond Q as he tried to annihilate her. The disturbing sensations flooded through her, until finally she again relived the instant when she had felt the life of the young Q flee his body before her attack, and the crunch of marble against an abruptly vulnerable skull.

She shuddered involuntarily, her newly celestial body convulsing at the pain and lingering guilt she yet experienced every time she recalled that instant of death that _she_ had caused. Yet within that revulsion lay the answer she sought.

She opened her thoughts to him. "Death is not an option." The absolute assurance and finality in her assertion surprised even her, and she sensed the Q around her stir in response to her unexpected authority. The Q beside her, however, showed little sign of comprehension. A great sadness entered Adara as she said, more quietly, "We exist. We guard. We _are._ That is why we are Q." Glancing at the Arbiter, she said, "At least, that's what we _should_ be." Ignoring the Arbiter's darkening rage at her statement, she turned back to her counterpart.

He stared at her in astonishment, considering her words. Gradually his confusion faded, and a strange serenity filled his being. Pulling a solemn dignity about himself, he returned his attention to the Assembly and formally intoned, "I relinquish my feud for all time. I surrender my hate before the worth of my enemy." Adara felt a peculiar pride as he continued respectfully, "I cannot and will not beg forgiveness or pardon. One with little reason to give such largesse has already granted them to me. Any punishment you deem fit shall be the price of my folly."

A strange hum vibrated through the Hall as the Assembly consulted with each other. Abruptly the Arbiter spoke in declamatory tones only a Q could achieve: "Cetus of the Triple Star, as punishment for your disobedience you are exiled from the Continuum: none may aid you or hinder you. Yet your actions demand reprisal. Therefore, as punishment for your reprehensible display of violence and irrational actions against another of the Continuum, your place of eternal existence from this moment forth shall be the instant of their greatest pain." A glow surrounded the gathered Assembly as the Arbiter shaped power to execute their judgment. Cetus screamed in agony as first his immortality was stripped from him, and then restored again in the form of an endless moment of intense agony. With a final wail, he vanished from the Hall.

A deep rage seized Adara, and she confronted the Assembly. "What right have you to do this?" she demanded.

The Arbiter said dismissively, "What does his fate matter to you, half-breed?"

For one bleak instant, Adara felt the anger within her overwhelm her restraint, only distantly aware as her celestial form swelled to greater immensity. Then an overwhelming rush of knowledge swept through her, and an implacable calm claimed her. "Do not so cavalierly dismiss me, daughter of the Eldest, for I am only one step removed from your unvaunted pinnacle of imperfection."

Shock swept through the Continuum. _No one_ spoke to the Arbiter in such a fashion and remained unscathed. In acid tones, the Arbiter said, "Your impertinence is great, _mongrel_. You have already proven detrimental to the health of the Continuum and disruptive to its customs. Your very existence is an affront to us. _Your_ fate has not been determined yet. I suggest you learn manners that befit such as you when addressing a superior being."

The admonition hung there for a moment. Amazed at her lack of reaction to those spiteful words, Adara took in that which surrounded her, noticing only peripherally the tension building around her in response to this unexpected confrontation. Instead, she focused on the still form of Q at her feet, pondering her options.

And then, finally, she understood.

Reaching within herself, she assumed her original Romulan form, fixed her gaze on the Arbiter, and laughed.

The Arbiter flinched.

Following her advantage of surprise, Adara said scornfully, "Superior? Only the diseased mind of senility could conjure up such a statement. I perceive, dearest Aunt, that you have succumbed to the pathetic belief that because the Continuum were among the first they shall be among the last. Cannot you see the end of your own purpose? You are not immortal, for your life had a beginning, and you are not mortal, for you refuse to allow the end of your existence the dignity of death. I, however, am both, and my understanding surpasses your feeble attempts at prescience. Your place in the universe has already been usurped, and the protestations of wondrous supremacy to which you and your kind cling like a toothless babe to the teat of its agéd mother merely reinforce your uselessness and blindness to the encroachment of those who, will you, nil you, shall force you into the pages of history."

Utter stillness followed her words. Never before had someone not acknowledged as part of the Continuum dared such brazen disrespect, and all present lacked any coherent response. Finally, anger literally blazing through her form, the Arbiter managed to form a single furious thought. _"You dare!"_

Adara tossed her head, in a fit of pique assuming the form of a human in an echo of Q's own mild rebellion against his fellows. "Why not? None of you can hurt me. You can _try,_ but none of you possess enough power to get past my defenses. You see, I observed Guinan very closely during my time of _sabvasa_. I realized that because I am mortal, I may protect myself, an immortal, with the same defenses." An insolent grin spread across her face.

"We shall follow you," the Arbiter declared. "We shall follow you down the endless reaches of time until you are vulnerable, and then we shall strike you down."

She cocked an eyebrow. "How can you do that if you can't even find me?" she asked maliciously.

"A place does not exist where our power does not reach!"

"Precisely, Auntie dear," Adara drawled, aware of the inflammatory effect that particular appellation had on the Arbiter. With a deliberately casual nonchalance, she reached down and wrapped her arms around the comatose form of Q. Glancing up at the now wholly enraged Assembly, she said, "Toodles."

With that, she opened a doorway beyond reality and slipped through it.


	16. Chapter 9

Serlin gazed into endless reaches of space, idly wondering how the stars survived their loneliness.

He stood before the window in Captain Picard's ready room, awaiting Corikh's arrival. Corikh, who had opted to remain on the _Lakorix_, objected to Serlin staying upon the _Enterprise_ during the remainder of the journey to Romulus; but Serlin knew the situation necessitated strong, moderate leadership for the multiple Romulan troops on board. Corikh had originally wanted to place Havlok in command, but one look at the white-haired warrior's cold cruelty had convinced Serlin to remain for the duration on board the Federation ship. He was not yet so far gone that he was willing to put the fate of the Alliance into the hands of someone who reveled in others' pain.

He rubbed his forehead, attempting to rid himself of the headache that had persisted since this whole predicament had started. Although his aide-de-camp pressured him to get medical attention, Serlin shrugged off the suggestion and accepted the pain as a just punishment for his willingness to give trust too freely. His only relief from the pain lay in the dull void of sleep. He sighed. _If only my dreams could forget as well_.

The name whispered through his thoughts: _Sienae…_

The door chimed. Serlin started, muttering an imprecation under his breath. "Come in."

Corikh swept through the door, Havlok on his heels. With gestures curt to the point of insult, he presented himself to Serlin with overly exaggerated civility. The set expression of his features, however, belied his inner thoughts. Serlin braced himself for another harangue in Corikh's continuing mission to turn Serlin into a rabid anti-human bigot. As his master took a chair, Havlok strode to the window and leaned against it, arms crossed in a deceptively lazy manner. His false eye fell on Serlin, disturbing him with its gleaming intensity. Deliberately dismissing him, Serlin turned to Corikh and said, "Well?"

Corikh threw a small object on the desk. "Nothing," he growled. "There's no trace that she was ever on board this ship except for Captain Picard's words and this."

'This' was a capsule containing a small trace of Adara's blood they had found on one of the chairs in Ten-Forward. Found only yesterday, it remained the only fruit of an exhaustive search of the entire ship. Serlin picked up the tiny container and idly turned it over in his hands. "What about the disaster area?" he said, referring to the devastated corridor and apartment they had discovered on an otherwise unoccupied level.

"Again, nothing. Just broken stone, torn cloth, and no evidence of how it happened." He growled in frustration. "Whenever I try to find out who inhabited those quarters, these Federation idiots protest their ignorance." He narrowed his eyes. "Matters would progress more smoothly if you agreed to let Havlok conduct all interrogations."

Serlin repressed a sigh. "The last recipient of Havlok's interrogational skills still requires extensive medical care, Corikh." Raising a hand sharply to stave off further objections, he added, "These acts of subtle rebellion must be expected-"

"Subtle?" interrupted Corikh gruffly. "You call the situation in the brig subtle?"

Serlin resisted the urge to rub his eyes, refusing to admit to any weakness in front of Corikh. "I still don't understand why you expected to be able to release the prisoners immediately, Corikh," he stated flatly, dropping any pretense of forbearance. "Lieutenant Killian is legally correct to deny us entry to the brig. His orders—"

Corikh snorted in disgust. "Orders he clings to because of _your_ weakness, Serlin."

Without thinking, Serlin vaulted from his chair and grabbed the top of Corikh's tunic. Pulling the surprised Romulan closer, he hissed softly, "Don't push me, Corikh. I could kill you before your tame assassin gets close enough to see the color of my eyes, and I have _nothing_ left to lose."

Corikh, unable to do otherwise, met Serlin's gaze for the first time since the beginning of the interview and flinched. Roughly Serlin shoved him back into his seat, took a deep breath, and then calmly sat down. Rubbing at his neck, Corikh muttered, "She's only a woman, Serlin."

Not deigning to reply, Serlin retrieved the blood sample and pretended to focus all his attention on it. "Has there been any response from the Federation yet concerning our communiqué?"

Sullenly, Corikh replied, "There hasn't been enough time, Senator."

Serlin tossed the capsule to him, causing him to scramble to catch it. "Contact me immediately once there is word."

The other stood and saluted crisply. "Understood, _rekkhai_," he said in a tone of voice that verged on a snarl.

Not ten feet away, the spy watched dispassionately.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"_Ssuaj-ha, rekkhai_."

Corikh's frustrated tone sounded tinny as it issued from the small module on the control panel in the brig. Beckett looked up from it and grinned. "Isn't it nice when your enemies don't get along?"

Killian met his gaze and grinned tightly. "It is one of life's little joys."

Birge stared at them in astonishment. "I didn't know there was an audio link between the brig and the Captain's ready room," she said.

"There isn't," Killian replied blandly. "The Elite have their ways. Perhaps if you join our ranks…" He left it hanging, then turned to Beckett. "Transcribe the conversation into Standard."

Beckett grunted. "It'd be nice if Navarre were here," he grumbled. "He speaks Romulan better than I do."

"Navarre's got other things to do, remember?" Killian straightened. "Notify me if anything of further interest occurs." Beckett nodded, not needing clarification.

Birge fell in next to Killian as he prowled the brig, nodding at the Elite as they went about their duties. Her observations of the interaction between Killian and the other members of their organization revealed the immense respect they gave to him. His sudden demotion and the change of circumstances did nothing to diminish that respect. Birge suspected that one of the reasons for this deference lay in the peculiar society that various of the Elite had hinted at but refused to talk about in depth. Intrigued, Birge remained silent and scrutinized her surroundings.

As they approached his position next to the entrance to the holding cells, Brent saluted. "Sir."

Killian quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, Max?"

"One of the prisoners has requested to speak with you."

"Garak?" Killian asked in a mildly aggrieved tone. Birge sighed. The Proconsul's nephew was not only the highest ranked of the prisoners but also the most obnoxious and outspoken with complaints about his treatment.

"No, sir. Nekron."

Birge blinked. "Who?" she asked before thinking.

Killian glanced at her. "He's the one that never speaks." He turned back to Brent. "Do you want to listen in?"

Brent shook his head. "Just you, sir. He insists."

Nodding, Killian dismissed his officer with a curt gesture then turned to Birge. "Excuse me, my lady," he said with a slight bow, then strode to the end of the brig where the prisoners resided in minimal pain and maximum inconvenience.

"He likes you."

She whirled to face Brent. "What makes you say that?" she demanded, blushing.

Brent studied her for a moment, then gently patted her on the shoulder. "Let's just say that he's usually not interested in people and leave it at that."

Her blush deepened. Trying to cover her confusion, she hastily asked, "What did he mean? About Nekron, I mean."

"Oh, him," Brent replied. "He's the best behaved of the bunch simply because he refuses to interact with us. Once in a while he'll deign to eat the food, but usually he sits in the corner of his cell and stares at the ceiling."

"So why this sudden urge towards conversation?"

Brent shrugged. "That El Aurian started talking to him. Suddenly Nekron won't settle for anything less than a face to face with Captain Kill."

"Captain Kill?" she inquired teasingly.

An abashed look came over his face. "You don't necessarily need to repeat that last remark, you know."

And then Killian was there. "Well," he mused. "Well, well, well."

"What?" Brent demanded, avid curiosity evident on his face.

He grinned. "Our dear Nekron used to be a servant in the household of none other than Adara's mother on Romulus." Quickly aborting their questions with a gesture, he added, "And guess who was the prime force behind her mother's death and her kidnapping?" At their blank expressions, he said maliciously, "None other than our dear, dear Corikh."

Brent's eyes went flat. His feelings toward Adara bordered almost on devotion since she had healed him. "We'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

Killian held up a hand. "That's not all. Guess who Corikh sent to execute his dirty deeds."

"Who?" Brent asked in the manner of a man compiling a mental list.

"Havlok."

The other stared at him in astonishment, then collapsed against the nearest wall as his body convulsed with laughter.

Birge stared at them in confusion. "Why is that so funny?"

Killian's expression could best be described as deliberately mysterious. "It's an Elite thing. You wouldn't understand." He stood in thought for a moment, then activated his hidden communicator. "Report."

"All clear, sir," the voice on the other end responded.

"Good." He moved away as he continued to speak in a low tone. "We've learned some important information." Then he was out of earshot.

Birge glanced at Brent, who had finally regained control of himself. "What is going on?" she asked acidly.

Brent leaned back on his heels, surveying the brig. A vicious grin suddenly seized control of his lips. "It's very simple," he said beatifically. "We've got 'em right where we want 'em."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He strode through the corridors of the _Enterprise_, manner confident and purposeful. The Romulans bowed slightly in fear and respect as he passed them, and the few Starfleet crewmembers unfortunate enough to view his visage recoiled in horror. White hair gleamed in the ambient light, and the scar across his brow glistened with his movements, mutely increasing the terror he instilled in those around him.

Dressed in harshly militaristic clothing and hand lingering constantly near the weapon holstered at his hip, he regarded all he encountered with the same cold, calculating gaze, one eye glittering ominously. Everyone, Romulan and Starfleet alike, had quickly learned the futility of impeding his progress, and the badge of rank he wore that proclaimed him second only to Serlin and Corikh reinforced his quiet air of authority.

Suddenly the figure paused and cocked his head slightly, then turned and slipped into some unoccupied living quarters. The apartment remained dark, intended for the use of the currently absent civilian population. The man glanced casually around the room and stood completely silent for a moment, as if listening. Then he reached up and squeezed the glittering decoration that hung from his ear. "Sir," he whispered, voice almost inaudible in the cavernous silence around him.

A brusque voice emanated from the small device. "Report."

"I am about to carry out the next stage of my mission, sir."

"Excellent. Keep me informed." The figure lowered his hand. Exhaling sharply to release tension, the man walked into the sleeping chamber of the apartment and said, "Lights."

The abrupt brilliance showed two bodies upon the bed, completely motionless and fully acquainted with_ rigor mortis_. The man immediately walked over to stand next to the corpse on the left side of the bed and stood there, momentarily considering the view.

Sharp angular eyebrows were still raised in surprise, although the thick scar on the brow disrupted the line of the grimace. The white hair was green with dried blood, and one eye shone suspiciously bright for a cadaver. The figure standing by the bed smiled. "Glad to see you, Havlok," it said facetiously as it began rummaging through the body's clothing.

Grim silence answered him.

Continuing as if holding a conversation, the man said, "Yeah, I know you didn't expect to see me again. But you're hiding something, and I'm afraid I'm going to need it for my next little encounter." Abruptly his questing fingers closed around the smooth cylinder. Picking it up, he caressed the _gatrik_ between his palms. "Good think I found out about this little beauty from Jurak, eh? I don't particularly want your former companions to hear what I'm about to do, and I suspect that _someone_ might try to listen." As he tucked the device into his pocket, he added, "You should be grateful that I got to you first, you know. Brent's not as forgiving as I am."

The corpse grinned at him mockingly.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again. I brought Matlok to keep you company, though, in case I can't make it back." The man turned and exited the bedroom, absentmindedly ordering the lights off. Approaching the outer door, he paused and held his body completely still. Echoing footsteps passed, and the man waited. Eventually the corridor was as silent as the room, and he quietly slipped out into the passage. Swiveling to his left, he continued his interrupted journey down the corridor until he reached a door with two Romulan guards flanking it. As they saw him, both snapped to tense attention.

"_Erei'Riov Havlok_," the nearest one addressed him.

"I would speak with the Senator," he stated calmly in flawless Romulan, assuming no interference from them.

_"Daie,_ _rekkhai_,_"_ the guard fawned obsequiously. He turned to the door and pointed something at it. A sharp hum cut through the air, and then the door swept open. The figure walked to the doorway and paused. Facing the guard, he assumed his most authoritative expression and said, "I do not wish to be disturbed."

The guard saluted nervously._ "Ssuaj-ha, rekkhai."_

As the door closed behind him, he withdrew the _gatrik_ and activated it, not trusting completely to the supposed sanctity of the room.

Abruptly a voice came from the bedroom door. "Who so rudely interrupts the seclusion of Sienae t'Khellian?" An aristocratic Romulan female swept into the room, hesitating only slightly when she saw the visitor's identity. "Ah. Corikh's sycophant. What do you want, Havlok?"

He laughed, startling the lady. "Hardly Corikh's," he said as he bowed. Straightening from his bow, he shifted into his more familiar human form. "I'm Lieutenant Jonathan Navarre of Starfleet. I'm here because the Commander told me to enlist your aid."

"Commander Riker?" she inquired with a raise eyebrow.

"As you say, my lady," he answered with a tinge of amusement.

Recovering quickly from her amazement, Sienae studied him closely. "Well, you certainly aren't Havlok. You speak boldly for a spy, though; surely you know that this place is monitored by my _beloved_ Serlin." She spat his name like a curse, but even that could not entirely hide her pain.

Navarre smiled and held up the _gatrik_. "Will this alleviate your fears, lady?"

"But that's—" she began in surprise, then forced herself to stop. Reaching out her hand, she demanded, "Let me see it." Stifling his reluctance, he handed it over. She carefully scrutinized it before meeting his gaze. "These are forbidden by the Senate. Who would bring—" She paused, sighing wearily. "Corikh," she stated flatly. Gingerly giving it back to Navarre, she said, "I suppose the nearly five hundred people the prototype killed when it malfunctioned wouldn't convince that fool to leave well enough alone." She looked sharply at the one in front of her. "How did you learn of it?"

He shrugged. "Happenstance; I was conversing with Jurak when he mentioned the device in 'my' possession. I listened closely, drew a few conclusions, and recovered it from Havlok's body."

She stiffened. "Body? Havlok's dead?"

"More thoroughly than anyone else I've killed," he said confidently. "I didn't want to make a mistake with _that_ one."

Smug satisfaction spread across her face. "Well, you certainly know how to please a woman." She looked at him curiously. "What manner of being are you?"

Navarre grinned. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that freely, my lady. Suffice it to say that my talents and abilities are more than adequate to the tasks before us."

She considered his words before sharply nodding in acceptance. "How long have you had free run of the ship?"

"Since Serlin usurped command." He smirked. "In one form or another," he added.

"Have you seen any sign of Viktris?"

"Your companion? No," he confessed. "As far as I can tell, you're the only Romulan female on this vessel."

"Then Adara—" she began, then quickly bit her lip.

"We are aware of the situation, my lady," he assured her quietly. "In point of fact, Adara disappeared not long before Viktris."

"Disappeared?"

"Aye."

"Not killed?" The concern in her face was palpable.

Navarre shook his head. "Not to our knowledge, no. And I think I would have known if Corikh—"

"Yes, yes, yes," she gestured impatiently, then sat back and regarded him with a keen gaze. "You seek to gain my assistance? To betray my own people? My current deplorable treatment aside, I am not yet completely sanguine with the notion. There must be more – how do you put it? – up your sleeve."

Navarre paused, considering his next words. "My lady, how much do you know of your sister's murder?"

Her eyes flashed. "Very little. After she was found…" She trailed off, and Navarre looked away to give her pain the dignity it deserved. "I know of no-one, Romulan or otherwise, who could be... _primitive_ enough, _bestial _enough to inflict such pain. The autopsy stated that she was tortured – in various ways - for hours before she died." She stopped, hands tightly clasped. "Even Viktris never discovered who performed the deed, or who ordered it."

"And what would be your response if I told you that we had incontrovertible proof that Havlok killed her, and kidnapped your niece and nephew, on orders from Corikh?"

Navarre had served with the Elite for well over a decade. His opponents covered a wide spectrum of beings from Klingons to Cardassians. He was considered one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the ranks, and excelled at the ancient arts of pistols and swordplay. Yet even he flinched back from the expression that came over the normally composed Sienae's face. The next five minutes of voluminous swearing and enthusiastic thrashing of her quarters, however, impressed him to no end – particularly when she broke each of the chairs around the table with cold, calculated kick, finishing the job with a precise smack into the center of the table that broke it into several forlorn pieces. The blood brought her back to her senses. As the pain finally penetrated her berserk rage, she lifted her hand and studied the deep, bleeding gash on it almost clinically. Then, demeanor utterly calm, she turned to Navarre, who succeeded in not flinching as he met her gaze.

"What do you wish of me, Lieutenant?"

Relieved that his mission had been accomplished so easily, he leaned forward conspiratorially to tell her the scheme _his_ Commander Riker had devised. Between them, almost forgotten, the _gatrik_ hummed contentedly, fulfilling its simple mission.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Merak breathed deeply, enjoying the purity of the air and sparkling power that permeated everything in this apparent paradise. When his father had first brought him to Gothos he had immediately sensed the presence of another Q and remarked upon it. His father had only shrugged and informed him that the planet itself was constructed by a youth called Trelane who had later proven unsuitable to join the Continuum itself.

A small flash of jealousy coruscated across his mind as he realized that he probably would not be able to accomplish such as this for quite a while, but Merak quickly reigned in his emotion – he didn't need distractions that might let his abilities get out of control.

Idly he wandered around the miniature orchard he had discovered near the body of the manor. The trees within bloomed perpetually, as if whoever had created them had decided that they should continually produce delicate little flowers to remain at the height of their beauty. Although the fragrance of the blossoms was intimately divine, Merak could feel the trees' despair at their inability to reproduce slowly creating an atmosphere of melancholy that even humans would be able to sense within a few centuries.

He attempted to alleviate their sorrow but found himself unable to straighten out the morass that had resulted from Trelane's combined power and ignorance, and settled on simply reassuring the trees that they had no need to bring forth a new generation. Yet although their despair lessened, their quiet keening still shimmered in the air around him. Saddened, he traced a path towards the bare field to which his father had first brought him.

As the field came into sight, Merak again found himself pondering his father's mysterious disappearance. He had been receiving intense instruction on the thermonuclear dynamics of the various types of stars when his father had paused and cocked his head. Straightening from his sitting posture, he said, "No! That idiot will ruin everything!" Turning to Merak, he curtly directed, "Do not leave this place until I return."

Then he had vanished.

Merak sighed. His father remained a mystery to him, despite their recent interactions. He had learned a great deal about the universe and its mechanics during their relationship, and found all that was taught endlessly fascinating, but…

He just couldn't rid himself of the notion that he would be more content to be a mortal than a god.

Abruptly the air before him glimmered with iridescence, and his father appeared. A smaller, secondary flash materialized as a Romulan female who looked around without amazement. "Where are we, my lord?" she asked.

"A legacy of my people's foolishness," his father answered curtly as he gestured Merak to come nearer. "This is my son. You will protect him."

The woman's eyes turned to regard him. This time a mild astonishment did awaken deep within her gaze, but was quickly dismissed as recognition gained power. "Merak, my lord?" she inquired. She bowed at the waist, placing her right hand upon her forehead. "With pleasure do I greet the son of my lord Viridian," she uttered in formal tones. "May my service to you redeem my past actions."

Merak, slightly confused, glanced at his father for clarification. "Father?"

With an effort, his father regained his composure. "Matters surrounding Adara are progressing beyond my predictions." An odd sense of pride exuded from his father's form. "She is...precocious. She delivered such an insult to others of the Continuum that stars are still going supernova in the Delta Quadrant." He chuckled lightly. "It was long overdue, anyway. We've all been so deadly _serious _since that unfortunate matter with Quinn and the civil war." He pursed his lips. "And we can be such pompous asses when we choose to be. It's good to see some ego deflation occasionally inflicted upon my fellows."

Merak cleared his throat again, repeating insistently, "Father? Why do I need protection?"

Viridian's eyes grew weary once more, the momentary levity now past. "You represent something that many in the Continuum consider dangerous. I know my fellows well - after they realize the true significance of your existence, some members of the Continuum may take it upon themselves to...remove the scourge, as it were. The Continuum are great believers in pragmatism and expediency when it comes to others, and you are definitely still considered 'other' by the Q at this point."

Merak felt a tingle in his spine. "You're leaving me again," he said in a not-quite-questioning tone of voice.

Nodding, Viridian gently explained, "There is...someone I need to consult with regarding your twin and you."

Accustomed to his father's vagueness, Merak decided not to pursue that odd statement, instead turning to scrutinize the slight woman that had accompanied his father to Gothos. A closer examination made him reevaluate his initial impression that she was fragile: though she was indeed slim, he felt a peculiar _intensity_ emanating from her that denoted an unexpected depth and strength. He also noticed the cords of muscle and tendon in her arms and neck, and observed the complete stillness she had adopted - this was a woman who evinced a quiet but unshakeable level of self-control that made Merak realize his own lack. "And this woman will protect me from the Q?" he inquired, allowing doubt to seep into his tone. "No offense, but…" The woman remained calm in the face of his doubts, studying him with a probing gaze, apparently not upset at his casual dismissal of any abilities she may possess. "Can you not take me to the El Aurian who protected Adara?"

His father issued a stern look of reproach at him. "The situation aboard the _Enterprise_ precludes Guinan as a suitable choice. Moreover, Viktris possesses something the El Aurian lacks."

Intrigued, Merak asked, "What is that?"

Reaching into his scintillating clothing, he withdrew a small pulsing chunk of what appeared to be marble. "She will be able to destroy any Q who attacks you."

Merak's eyes widened in astonishment, eyes gravitated towards the object in his father's grasp. "That stone-?"

"It is the weapon that your sister constructed to kill her initial attacker. It is supremely powerful and peculiarly limited: it is only effective when wielded by a Romulan female." An unexpected chuckle shook him. "Adara requires training, but she has tremendous promise." Merak tried to suppress the flash of jealousy, but his father saw it anyway. He put his hand on Merak's shoulder. "You are progressing well, my son. Your only weakness lies in your continued insistence on treasuring all things mortal."

A spiteful thought occurred to Merak. "Maybe she has been getting training on the side," he muttered.

His father shot him a quick glance. "What do you mean?"

"Your former pupil shows an excessive amount of interest in my sister's welfare. Maybe their relationship is practical as well as personal?"

Expression devoid on emotion, Viridian responded, "He can help no one at the moment. He was struck down while defending her."

Merak bowed his head, a little ashamed at his behavior. "I'm sorry."

"No matter." He straightened. "I must depart. I'll leave you with family until I can return." He gestured.

Caught by surprise, Merak experienced the now familiar moment of vertigo before new surroundings appeared around them.

"Viktris!" a female voice cried out happily. Merak turned to see his companion embrace a regal female of his mother's race. Looking closer, he noticed that she seemed oddly familiar.

"Lady," Viktris responded demurely, curtsying slightly. "I have returned."

"And who is this?" the new woman began, noticing Merak for the first time.

"This is the son of Saehir, lady," Viktris said softly.

The lady looked sharply at Viktris before returning her gaze to Merak. Abruptly her eyes widened as her face paled. She moved closer to him and brought up a hand to trace the line of his eyebrows and cheek, almost as if she were testing the reality of his presence. "Oh, my dearest child," she murmured softly. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

Numbly, Merak shook his head.

"I am Sienae i-Ra'tleihfi t'Khellian, and…" She faltered slightly, eyes filling with tears. "And sister to your mother."

Merak felt a sharp wave of emotion wash over him. "My aunt?" he said tremulously.

She inclined her head in agreement and held out her arms.

He let himself fall into her embrace as she guided him to a couch. Tears wet his cheeks, shocking him with their abrupt appearance, but the outpouring of emotion would not be denied. Suddenly he felt all the joy, despair, and wonder of the past few days welling up within him, slowly loosening the lump of hurt that he had harbored his entire life, the surety that he was alone in the universe.

When his father had first claimed him, he had been too astonished to absorb more than the bare fact of his presence, and his first encounter with Adara had left him too elated to ponder her absence from his life before. His subsequent training had required him to hold his emotions at bay for fear they would interfere with the control of his abilities, and recent events had occurred too quickly for him to do more than react. The appearance of this woman who so resembled his mother brought those memories back in ways that not even Adara could have invoked. Suddenly he found himself recalling the knife that had cut Kavis down and the screams of his mother as she had been raped and mutilated before her life was finally severed.

Now all the years of loneliness banded together to remind him that he had been abandoned, left to die far from kith and kin. His seclusion from those around him, imposed from within and without, haunted his memory, and the pain of his current enforced separation from Adara echoed inside his being as he wept from the depths of his soul.

Sienae merely held him, letting the warmth of her body suffuse his own, stroking his head as if soothing a child. He realized he felt like one: alone, abandoned, and afraid of the future and its opaque darkness.

Then the detachment his father had laboriously instilled in him seized control of his emotions and locked them up again to be dealt with later. Straightening quickly and adjusting his attire, he hastily wiped his tears from his eyes and met his aunt's gaze. "My apologies," he stated formally.

She smiled, making her look so like his mother that he almost felt the old pain again. "Any time."

Suddenly a male voice intruded. "While this is an extremely touching reunion, would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

Sienae turned to the human that was regarding them from the opposite end of the room. "Lieutenant Navarre, I have agreed to help your people. That does not mean I will tolerate rudeness."

Merak studied the human, struggling to remember where he had seen the man before. "Jonathan?"

Navarre blinked, then grinned. "Merak! Oh, this is _great!_ Captain Kill was really worried about you."

"Killian?" Merak asked excitedly. "He's here?"

Navarre gave him an odd look. "Of course. He _is_ our ranking officer on this mission."

Suddenly the details of everything around him hit Merak and assembled themselves into a pattern: the presence of his aunt, the Federation design of the vessel, the calm appearance of an Elite. "This is the _Enterprise_?" he inquired in astonishment. Whirling to meet Viktris' gaze, he said, "Why would my father send us here?"

Before the startled Viktris could respond, a small beep emanated from Navarre's clothing, echoing in the suddenly silent room. Navarre swore under his breath. Before Merak's astonished gaze he morphed into a sinister Romulan male.

Only the knowledge that it was in fact Navarre prevented Merak from disassembling him molecule by molecule. The man who had brutally killed his mother now stood in front of him. Sienae placed a restraining hand on his arm, then leaned over and asked quietly, "It _was_ Havlok, then?"

Merak nodded curtly, not trusting himself to speak.

"Ah," his aunt said, tone satisfied.

Oblivious to his friend's struggle, Navarre removed a tiny device from his pocket. _"Daie__, rekkhai?"_

A chillingly familiar voice came through the metallic contrivance. _"Hallh'na."_

_"Ssuaj, rekkhai."_ He turned back to Merak and jerked his head to the bedchamber, mouthing, "Go!" Merak hastily retreated to the room, grabbing Viktris' arm as he walked past her. They waited for the outer door to open and close before relaxing.

"Now what?" he asked plaintively.

Viktris merely shrugged in response, the hand around the stone she yet grasped tightening its grip. "We wait."

Merak slumped onto the bed. "I hate waiting."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

__Ssuaj-ha, rekkhai__ - Understood, sir (with a connotation of inferior to superior - Corikh is being sarcastic in his usage of the phrase)

_Ssuaj, rekkhai _- Understood, sir (casual, informal use)

_Daie_,_ rekkhai_ - Yes, sir (inferior to superior)

_Hallh'na _- Report to me at once.


	17. Elsewhere 7

**_I existed from all eternity and, behold, I am here; and I shall exist till the end of time, for my being has no end._**

-Khalil Gibran

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

Adara opened her eyes and scrutinized her new surroundings. Her sojourn to the Hall demonstrated clearly that the power of the Q Continuum extended into the farthest reaches of the universe. Yet, that secret knowledge inside her, the knowledge derived from the seam between the infinite and the instant, assured her of one thing: if everything must exist somewhere in the universe, then there must be nowhere that nothing exists.

This nothing was not the void of space, for eventually even the farthest reaches of the universe are subjected to the harshness of photons. Yet nothing could exist apart from all space, for time here was unknown and space immaterial. It didn't occupy any location, and yet, just as the discovery of zero advanced the study of mathematics to radically new sentience, nothing provided a background for all else to be compared to and become something.

Yet now something had invaded nothing, braving the reaches that even the Eldest feared to tread.

She felt nothing watching her as she formed a small platform from nothing, and nothing changed as she carefully laid her companion's head down. Nothing was curious when she placed a hand upon his chest and pushed it through the cloth to force the contact of flesh upon flesh.

In fact, nothing took notice as Adara attempted to unravel this, the greatest mystery of her memories: the connection that didn't exist between herself and Q.

Contented, nothing relaxed and allowed Adara to search the dark ponds of eternity to attain the answer that was necessary, for she was nothing if not determined.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Images flashed through his mind, memories of times long forgotten and remembered, past and future whirling together to form an inchoate sense of being. He remembered when he began, perceived his ending in the same instant. He demystified the laws of the universe, but failed to escape the chaos of reality. His mind reveled in its ability to encompass the whole of eternity, but found time opaque and infinity an unfathomable mystery. Everything that was and would be settled into his awareness: he discerned the alpha and omega of all existence, and felt himself lose innocence and guile.

Then all disappeared in a flash of light and darkness, gone as if it had never been.

He wept.

Abruptly another mind touched his, appearing from the nothingness around him to tender a gentle request. _"tell?"_ it asked, not using words but instead sending the most basic of communicative devices: hope and desire, tempered by age and scorn.

Attempting to shrug off the ambivalence that threatened to end his endurance, he responded, _"why?"_

The voice hesitated, then suggested, _"questions"_

He pondered momentarily, curiosity fanning the spark of his life. His inquisitiveness decided that it was good. _"yes"_

Suddenly he was drawn away from the contemplation of nothing only to find himself in a familiar fragment of time.

.~^~.

"_Cease this foolishness!"_

_Q looked around guiltily, hastily banishing the portal between realities he had been crafting diligently. His father's friend appeared nearby, leveling a stern gaze at him._ "What _did you think you were doing?"_

_Q quickly formed himself into an impossibly ingenuous innocent. "Nothing, great elder."_

_The stars in the other's eyes dimmed as Q felt the metaphorical temperature drop substantially. "Do not patronize me, boy. I asked the question to give you a chance to exonerate yourself, not as an excuse to attempt flattery." Emptiness threatened from his gaze as the elder said, "Now explain yourself."_

_Flaring his shape rebelliously, Q retorted, "I was trying to watch the Eldest."_

_A flicker of amusement touched the elder. "Now why would you want to do that?"_

"_He's the most powerful being in the universe!" Q said enthusiastically, excitement overcoming his inherent sense of self-preservation momentarily. "I want to learn his secrets and figure out how to use them. If I could do that, Father would have to find me a teacher. Father says I'm not ready for the final training, but he doesn't really care." Q pouted, unappreciative of the elder's burgeoning mirth. "Nobody lets me do anything."_

"_Well," the other responded, "I'm glad you chose to confide in me."_

_Abruptly realizing what he had just said, Q looked at the elder accusingly. "You made me say that, didn't you?"_

_The elder indicated his guilt with a deprecating gesture. "It was necessary."_

_Q exploded. "That's all you care about, isn't it? You and Father and Mother, carrying on about the Continuum's duty, the Continuum's destiny, the Continuum's-"_

"_Enough!" interrupted the elder, gaze again dangerous. Q immediately ceased his protestations. The other scrutinized him, apparently holding an internal debate. As the silence lengthened, Q began to fidget slightly in anxiety, his imagination conjuring the horrible images of punishment he knew his impetuous outburst would entail. Finally the other made a slight gesture that summoned Q to his side. "Do you want to see what happened to the last being that attempted to spy on the Eldest with impunity?"_

_Not liking the sudden ominous glint in the elder's stars, Q quickly tried to dissent. The other merely flickered in minute amusement and shaped his power into a vision. As it ended Q found that his terror forced an embarrassing disembodiment, and strange weakness seemed to upset his senses. "Th-thank you for stopping me, elder."_

"_Think nothing of it. However," he added gravely, "I suspect that this feckless attempt upon your part will finally convince your father that you require final training."_

_Although this was his most ardent desire, a small shiver upset Q's inner brilliance. "Really?"_

_The other looked at him. "You are apprehensive then? Good; what you are about to undergo is neither simple nor gentle."_

_Dread suddenly filled Q's mind as he inquired, "Who will be my teacher?"_

_The being known as Viridian suddenly let his power flare into a galaxy of illumination around them. "I will, of course."_

_Q shuddered._

_.~^~.  
><em>

A small ripple ran across his consciousness as a minuscule portion of himself found a small portion of stability to cling to in the wailing emptiness that tried to consume his existence.

The other mind touched his again. _"more,"_ it insisted.

Helpless, he watched as the memories overwhelmed him with a tide of effulgent eagerness. Abruptly eternity surrounded him and

.~^~.

_he stood in the Hall, striving to remain calm before his teacher's penetrating gaze. He had, of course, been here before, but had never been allowed to leave under his own power. His mind raced frantically to remember everything he knew of this place, for this was the final test, the assurance that he was fully fit to take up his duties as a member of the Continuum proper, rather than just a potential blob of protoplasmic power. Soon his tutor would leave him alone, and Q would discover whether his training had prepared him to comprehend the Hall well enough to command it to allow him egress, or if the sheer vastness and endlessness would overpower him and…_

_Well, actually no one had ever told him what happened to those who failed, but the theories concerning their fate coruscated through his mind, awakening an uneasy discomfort within that threatened to destroy his center of calmness. Quickly eschewing emotion, he turned to face the elder._

"_I am ready," he said quietly. And he was. He had changed a great deal from the rash youth that had driven him to attempt the forbidden. He noticed a twinkle of approval for his maturation in the other, and his serenity strengthened, displacing discomfiture and restoring confidence. Suddenly he knew that he would succeed._

"_Very well. I shall be awaiting you in our classroom," his instructor responded. Q saw him collect his power and vanish._

_Focusing his concentration, Q scanned infinity and gathered power. Tentatively probing the vastness around him, he quickly determined that he was indeed alone: the testing of a youth of the Q guaranteed him solitude, lest any distract and cause ruin. Summoning energy to his grasp, he opened his mind to the Hall in preparation of his exit._

_Abruptly another presence came beside him._ *He has come*

_A chill ran through Q's body in response to that peculiar statement. The normal mode of communication between his people delved deeper than those curious mortal races that had been shown to him, but these words, whatever their origin, caressed something so far within him that his fascination could not avert itself. Startled, Q managed, "Who, me?"_

*You wish to leave*

"_Of course," he snapped before he managed to calm down. Remembering his teacher's instructions, he stated, "I wish to become of the Continuum. To do this I must leave the Hall without aid. Therefore I must depart." Utter silence answered his words. Then whatever was out there spoke again._

*To depart, all you need do is name us*

"_But who—" Q paused, knowing that he had received his one and only clue from that statement. "And if I cannot?"_

*Then you will join us* _A terrible loneliness cut through the Hall, sucking some of the light from Q as it passed. Recognizing that his very existence depended on his response, Q stilled his emotions and brutally moved his mind through the instincts of his senses and heritage, seeking the answer._

_And suddenly he realized why his tutor had refused to answer his queries of the nature of the final test: to tell of its nature was to completely negate the impact of the experience. Whispering at a level far below the ability of physics or telepathy to convey, Q stated, "You are the Heart of the Storm."_

*Go, Q of the Continuum*

_And abruptly he found himself in the heart of the nebula where the winds soared freely, the place that had served he and his tutor as a place of calm for Q to receive instruction. Searching the surroundings, he called out, "Teacher!"_

_Instantly the other appeared beside him. "Good to see you," he said wryly._

_Q assumed an arrogant posture, "But of course, elder."_

_He chuckled. "It has been long since last you called me that," he remarked. "Now tell me, what did they name you?"_

_A small shock of surprise went through Q. "What do you mean?"_

"_When they dismissed you," the other explained. "Every member of the Continuum is given the name that describes the breadth of their duties as they leave the Hall. I was named Viridian." Gaze curious, he said, "What exactly did the lost ones say?"_

"'Go, Q of the Continuum,'"_ Q responded obediently._

"_Hmmm," Viridian said, eyes troubled. Distressed by this response, Q started to form a question in his thoughts. The elder interrupted him and said, "Enough. I must ponder this." Gaze focusing on a distant galaxy, he said, "I think I need a vacation anyway."_

_He vanished._

"_Elder?" Q said hoarsely. Cold stillness answered him._

_.~^~.  
><em>

The pain of that mysterious abandonment swept through him again. Why had the elder departed? Had his requests not been obeyed, his partialities not catered to, his teachings not followed? Spurred by the retrospection, the rawness of his abilities chafing for full freedom, the barriers preventing him from complete recovery weakened before the onslaught of anger. He screamed in pain as he discovered himself, felt more of what he had done and become after his teacher had left him. The memories flickered through his mind, forcing him to witness

_ the first woman of the Continuum he loved, then forgotten…  
>the first world he created, destroyed by a single flaw…<br>the first enemy he made, for the sake of a whim…  
>the first time he died, only to live again…<br>the first friend who defended him, eyes laughing…  
>the first paradise he had achieved, joy surging through him…<br>the first time he realized he was truly different than the others…_

This last thought sparked a new avenue of exploration, and the anger within roiled again. His idiosyncrasies had been blamed on his lack of a proper name, ignoring his protestations that he _did_ have a proper identity: Q. Most marked this argument as arrogance, and eventually he had ceased objecting and isolated himself from his fellows, resentful of their fallacious assumption, dabbling more and more often in the spheres of mortals.

He was still of the Continuum and fulfilled his duties in full, but the Continuum, save for his few friends, agreed that he was a nuisance more than anything else. Had the fullness of his power not been demonstrated in his casual dismissal of a particularly determined detractor that had yet to rematerialize, he would have found himself in difficulty far more often than actually occurred. The revenge of the Continuum against his uniqueness in a spectrum of conformity showed itself in spiteful little ways: criticizing him for the destruction of Trelane rather than congratulating him for saving the universe, interfering with his distractions among the mortals, disdaining his decision to begin a new life in the form of his son, blaming him for the death of Quinn rather than acknowledging Quinn's own desire to embrace an ending.

The memories continued to flow through his mind. One instant to the next, his life settled into his awareness, recollections gaining power and momentum as they accelerated through time and space itself. Hatreds and shames long forgotten reminded him of emotions long buried; deeds discounted and ignored deluged him to renew their importance, threatening catastrophe if they were forsaken any longer.

His mind struggled to process what had accumulated over the course of time mortals would deem infinite, and sanity began to lose its tenuous grip upon the windswept cliff of his existence. He vaguely sensed that should his hold be severed, he would become particles of dust seeking sustenance through the chill of space, traveling the stellar winds to the echoing palace of nothing itself. A keen wave of desperation shook his being as he began to dissolve into the wild chaos that awaited him.

Then a cool presence interposed itself against the unbridled chaos besieging his soul. "_Enough_," it commanded. "_Leave him be._"

Chittering madly, the chaos swelled itself imposingly. _*food we need food last one gone this one took our own took killed want revenge this one good weak savory now ours none stop none interfere none ignore foolish creature to meddle take you as well both nice food take our own*_

The other remained implacable. _"Nothing reigns here, and nothing has power here. Depart."_

A chill howl spread across nothing, and, balked in ways it could never have anticipated, the Heart of the Storm dissipated, its opportunity to avenge the obliteration of Trelane the Squire of Gothos lost.

The awareness caressed his thoughts once more. Realizing that he was recovered from the damage that had been done to him, he said, "Why are you helping me?"

Relief came through the contact. "You are better."

"Of course I am!" he snapped irritably. "Now would you answer my question?"

"Answer mine first," the other challenged. And, before he could respond, another memory swept through his being, forcing him to remember that which had never occurred and simultaneously blazed in his memory as his oldest thought.

.~^~.

_They stand on the edge of forever, looking into the future and the past, remembering them as one._

_One is a woman, attired in starlight and death's shadow. The other is a man, robed in scarlet and the blood of lives long past._

_The wind that cannot exist save at the edge of forever swirls around them, smoothing rough emotions and harsh words. At the end of the mobius strip they stand side by side._

_Finally the man (at least, that's how he thinks of himself) reaches out and takes her hand. The woman (an equally useless phrase to describe her, though she is more of flesh and blood than he) resists at first, then allows the contact._

_Time that no longer possesses any meaning holds them motionless for more moments._

_Finally, though there has been no waiting, the man speaks. "Shall we meet again?"_

_The woman turns and studies him. Not his exterior appearance – tall, lean, dark-haired and possessed of a face that shows a past collusion with arrogance – but his eyes, in which she can see all the regrets, pain, and fury that what has happened must be so again. Smiling slightly, she indicates the stars that are beginning their ending (and ending their beginning) and murmurs, "Was there ever a doubt?"_

_His eyes flash in long dormant anger, then soften as she brings her other hand to brush his cheek. He releases his grip to place it on that hand, breathing in her aura and beauty. "Must it be as it was?"_

_Her eyes, glorious in the illumination that exists before photons, sadden. "Would love have come any other way?" His silence answers. She sighs, unaccustomed to the weight of emotions. As she glances away, she feels his arms rise to take her into his embrace._

"_We could change everything, you and I," he suggests, hope flickering deep in his eyes. "We could…"_

"_No." Her command stills him. "We shall love, and begin again."_

_Time rushes to meet them, carrying upon it a desire for revenge at their daring to avoid it for so long. Needing no words, their lips and minds meet, and love binds their beings together for one endless moment._

_Then time, proud from the first, conquers._

_.~^~.  
><em>

He recoiled in fury from the image. "Enough," he grated to the other. "Stop this senseless display and show yourself."

"I can do nothing," the other replied. "Whatever comes is to be done by you alone."

Rage burning across his mind, he willed himself into existence.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_This interlude includes references to Apocryphal aspects of the Q Continuum known as the "Heart of the Storm", introduced in Peter David's novel _Q-Squared._ I have presented my own further theory on what the Heart of the Storm is above and beyond what was in that novel. If you haven't read the book yet and are interested in Q stories, I highly recommend that book, which pegs Trelane from the ST:TOS episode "The Squire of Gothos" as a young Q (a character I have referred to previously in this story)._


	18. Chapter 10

Picard folded his hands on the table before him, ignoring the manacles that clinked ever so slightly with his movements. _Chains,_ he snorted mentally, _as if we were somehow feral._ They were manufactured of a peculiar metal he had never seen before, as black as pot iron but smooth as silk. No light reflected from the seamless surfaces, and Picard knew that even had he been able to locate the lock in the strange substance that defied his eyes, he would have remained unable to open it. Similar fetters bound his feet just far enough apart to allow a steady, if slow, walking pace, but noisy enough to ensure pursuit in the event of an escape attempt. The Romulans were anything but careless when it came to imprisoning their captives.

Upon their arrival at Romulus, Picard had been taken from his cell aboard the _Lakorix_ and beamed planetside with three Romulan guards led by Havlok, who had seemed curiously preoccupied. From there he was taken, to his surprise, to a luxurious bathing chamber.

After several significant glances all save one his guards departed, leaving him to bathe in peace. His idle inquiries to that guard elicited surprising information: until the trial, the Starfleet officers were to be well treated, albeit still prisoners. Picard, satisfied, had completed his ablutions and emerged from the bathing chamber. He had then been escorted to a different, smaller chamber, where Havlok had curtly informed him he would remain until the trial began.

After that, he had been left to his own devices.

Picard glanced around the room, hoping to discern something useful. A single light from an unidentifiable source produced poor illumination that created bizarre shadows upon the unassuming and unmarked grey walls. No window was apparent, and the only entrance was through a narrow door warded by a trio of Romulan guards armed to the teeth and possibly beyond. The temperature wasn't precisely uncomfortable, but inspired little relaxation and implied no warmth. The only furniture was the central table with chars, all constructed of similar red wood. Finding his surroundings physically monotonous, Picard found himself forced to rely upon mental strategies to remain alert.

Sighing, he raised his hand to rub his temples, causing a faint _clink_ to issue from his cuffs. Despite the enforced isolation in his prison aboard the Romulan bird of prey that had left him with little to do but contemplate his predicament, he was still no closer to attaining an answer to his problems than when Senator Serlin had peremptorily walked the delicate edge between war and peace.

His thoughts became preoccupied with speculations regarding Killian's cryptic interrupted message. The Q had come – that much was evident – but which ones and for what purpose? None of the Continuum had displayed restraint before, so why the limited scope of their visit? Another distressing question plagued him as well: why had Guinan not warned him of a Q's incipient arrival, as she had always done before? Surely she would have tried had she been able. His mind shied from the thought that she might somehow have been incapacitated.

And what of Adara's fate? Had Corikh found her, or had she somehow contrived another escape? All hints gleaned from his captors' manner and inquiries indicated that Adara had not been found, yet the duplicity of Romulans remained legendary. And if her enemy had indeed appeared and succeeded in his goal…

Unable to reach any firm conclusions, Picard shook his head in frustration. This brooding only distracted him from more pertinent consideration of his present situation. Killian's interrupted report, although important, could not aid Picard in his current plight. Thoughts of the Elite commander twitched a smile onto his lips: at least he could depend on Killian's rather warped sense of humor to interpret Picard's final command correctly. His deepest instincts told him that the prisoners would somehow be essential to the outcome of this situation, not to mention their importance to any future talks, and that intuition had prompted him to ensure that those captives remained beyond the Empire's reach.

Abruptly the door to the holding room opened, admitting a neatly groomed Commander Riker. Spotting Picard, he said, "Sir."

"Number One," Picard acknowledged in return. "Have a seat."

Ignoring the prod of his guard, Riker forced an insolent grin and said, "I believe I shall." Behaving as if it were entirely his choice, he shuffled over to sit next to the Captain, actions hampered slightly by the chains. As he settled himself into the seat, he unconsciously mirrored Picard's position. The Romulan scrutinized them for a moment more, then grunted and resumed his post outside the door. Riker silently waited until the door closed, then leaned over and whispered, "Something strange is going on."

Picard regarded his first officer with a rather wry grin. "I believe I have already ascertained as much, Will."

Riker flashed a grin at Picard's attempt of levity, but quickly sobered. "This morning that white-haired Romulan came to my cell and ordered the guard to allow him to talk to me in private."

A chill ran down his spine as he recognized the description of Havlok, Corikh's second and as vindictive a Romulan as he had ever encountered. Fearing the worst, Picard objected harshly, "Serlin promised no torture."

Riker chuckled softly, surprising him. "Actually, sir, his visit turned out to be a rather pleasant surprise."

"What do you—" Picard began, then cut off as the door opened once more to allow entry for the rest of his officers. Picard scanned them quickly, searching for signs of abuse or harsh treatment. Finding none, he sighed with relief as they quietly assumed places around the table. When all had taken their seats, Picard looked around sharply. "Where's—?" he began.

Before he could fully voice his concern, Ambassador Trenata raised a hand and met his gaze wearily. Her pale hair hung around her head, clean but listless, mirroring the lackluster hollowness of her eyes. "Ambassador Ju-galrianmei requested a meeting with Senator Serlin, citing Romulan law." She shrugged at his raised eyebrow. "I do not claim to understand, but Ju-galrianmei has often demonstrated superior knowledge in unusual subjects." She swallowed harshly, throat moving painfully in the light. "Lieutenant Commander Data was deemed impossible to contain, so they deactivated him and put him under guard on board the _Enterprise_."

"The _Enterprise_?" he asked, startled. "How trusting of them."

Riker spoke up. "They received a message from Starfleet and Federation this morning, sir, informing them of the Romulan government's right to allow us a fair trial but hinting at severe displeasure if any member of Starfleet of property belonging thereto was unduly harmed or mistreated." He smiled as everyone turned to look at him in astonishment.

"That sounds like a quote, Will," Deanna remarked. Picard noticed that of all those present she seemed the most alert and prepared to handle the immediate future without sacrificing one scintilla of the ageless serenity that remained the core of her personality.

Grinning wolfishly in response, Riker said, "I've got connections." Sobering quickly, he said, "I think they deemed Data to be 'property' if nonfunctional and elected to keep him with the rest of Starfleet's property – the _Enterprise_."

Picard narrowed his eyes slightly. "A strange concatenation of circumstances, Number One. Does your sudden knowledge have anything to do with—"

"I think it would be wisest if we chose our words with care, Captain," Geordi interrupted softly. "Who knows what the shadows may hide in this place?" Once sure that he had Picard's attention, he surreptitiously pointed to the ceiling, left dark by the insufficient lighting.

Realizing that Geordi's implants had seen something suspicious that normal eyesight couldn't detect, Picard nodded even as Riker looked slightly chagrined at his earlier carelessness. Attempting nonchalance, Picard turned to Riker and said, "You were mentioning a pleasant visit?"

He could see Riker's mind racing for an appropriate response. "Yes, sir, but pleasant only because of the lack of typical Romulan interrogation techniques. Havlok by himself is enough to chill my bones any day." He paused, obviously struggling for an innocuous way to say something that he evidently considered vital for Picard to be informed about. "In terms of temperament and ability, Havlok reminds me all too strongly of Anya."

Picard furrowed his brow slightly, perplexed. Riker referred to the guardian of a young lady named Salia that the _Enterprise_-D had transported several years previously to Daled IV, where Salia had been destined for planetary leadership. They had encountered several problems during the voyage, including a puppy romance between Wesley Crusher and Salia which had almost resulted in Wesley's demise when Salia's overprotective guardian Anya had shapechanged and…

Picard blinked astonishment. Havlok, a _shapechanger_? _No,_ he corrected himself, _a shapechanger using Havlok's form._ Judging from Riker's earlier nonchalance, this being apparently worked under the auspices of the Federation or Starfleet, and had somehow been on the _Enterprise_ throughout the mission. Quickly considering the possibilities, Picard looked at his first officer. "So he didn't _kill_ you, eh?" he said with a special emphasis.

Riker grinned and nodded, actions belying his words. "No, although he did threaten to throw me in the _brig_," he said with the same emphasis.

Picard stifled a smile. Killian apparently liked to keep a few surprises in reserve, and damn him if a shapeshifter wasn't one of them.

Even as he relaxed slightly with this newfound knowledge, the door opened to admit Senator Serlin and Ju-galrianmei. Two Romulans flanked them while a third guard entered and walked towards those gathered around the table. "The good Ambassador has appealed to my better nature and gained reprieve for many of you." Serlin inclined his head towards the third guard who withdrew a slim piece of black metal from his pocket. Going first to the Ambassadors, the guard passed the dark object over the cuffs, which opened with an obedient click. The guard continued around the table as Serlin began to speak.

"The inestimable Ambassador has reminded me that Romulan law dictates that of those officers arrested, only the commanding officer may be formally charged to appear in a court of law. As well," he added, casting a glance towards the imperturbable Deltan, "interplanetary law insists that only those condemned directly by evidence may stand trial." The guard continued around the table, quietly freeing Picard's friends. "Those of you not charged are required to stay on Romulus during the course of the trial, but shall be treated as honored guests. After the trial is concluded, you may return to the _Enterprise_ and depart."

Soon all were free but Picard. The guard straightened, bowed to Serlin, and then stepped back, assuming a waiting stance.

Not pausing, Serlin met Picard's gaze. "I, Serlin i-Mhiessan tr'Meihan of Romulus, do formally charge Jean-Luc Picard of Starfleet, Captain of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ NCC-1701-E, with conspiracy against the Star Empire. Your crimes are: aiding and abetting a known hazard to the Empire, and subsequently refusing to relinquish said hazard to Romulan possession when confronted." He nodded his head sharply. Six Romulans came in and escorted his friends from the room. Riker threw one last glance of concern before being ushered out. The guard with the key quickly retrieved the manacles and quietly withdrew, leaving only Serlin, Ju-galrianmei, and the two impassive sentries.

Picard summoned his dignity and stood, chains clinking. "I voice my objection: I believe these charges unfair as well as unfounded."

Serlin shrugged, reluctantly Picard surmised, and said, "It must be done, Captain." Sharp eyes met his own. "Too many of my people refuse to trust the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular."

"I am to be the sacrificial lamb, then," Picard said quietly. Serlin, discomfiture evident, didn't answer but averted his gaze and backed out of the door. The two guards followed him, closing it firmly behind them. Looking in surprise at Ju-galrianmei, Picard inquired, "Why do you remain?"

The Deltan spread his hands. "Did you truly think I would let a Romulan be your counsel, Captain? Surely you do not wish to throw yourself upon the tender mercies of the Romulan Senate."

Inclining his head, Picard replied, "I thank you, Ambassador. You are most generous."

Ju-galrianmei stroked his beard theatrically. "Perhaps, Captain." Then, to Picard's utter astonishment, the staid Deltan winked conspiratorially. "Or perhaps I, too, wish to be as famous on Romulus as you. Your foray into this place apparently is still quite legendary in some circles." Cocking his head speculatively, he said, "Of course, that could work for us or against us. Legends do not only describe the feats of heroes."

Tightening his lips grimly, Picard remained silent, knowing that _anything_ could affect the situation for better or worse.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Corikh looked approvingly at the screen on his desk. So far everything was proceeding worse than he had hoped for, but better than he had feared.

He frowned, pondering what had gone wrong. Not only had Starfleet's barely veiled threats browbeat the Proconsul into excessive caution, but that weakling Serlin had been persuaded by one of the foreign Ambassadors and the t'Khellian _susse-thrai_'s friends to press charges only against Picard, adding insult to injury by doing so with Romulan law. Glowering at the reminder of that failure, Corikh clenched his right hand into a fist. _Damn_ Serlin! It would have been perfect but for his interference and idealistic idiocies! Damn the t'Khellian _vang'radam_ as well, for seducing him into such foolish behavior and beliefs. Now it was up to Corikh to correct the situation before the conference became an undeniable certainty.

The Governor's face darkened as his left hand tightened its grip upon his desk, for every time he thought about that cursed conference rage overwhelmed him. He knew that if such a conference ever came to fruition, the presence of his special 'guests' on Saatilvik would somehow come to light. He refused to let those particular guests leave his hospitality, for their treatment had been highly unorthodox. Should his predilections become known…

He had orchestrated this whole situation simply to create enough mistrust between the Federation and the Empire to render the conference unthinkable for years to come. Picard's death, if it came to that, would be an undeniably pleasurable bonus, but the main goal remained: widen the rift between the two nations. Serlin's defection merely meant that he could no longer rely upon his control of certain members of the Senate to guarantee the outcome he needed. In the end, however, the Federation would learn that the Romulans were not cringing serviles such as other races had shown themselves to be, obeying the Federation's whims at the cost of their own liberty and identity. The Empire would remain strong, unafraid, and, above all, independent of the accursed Federation. The current impasse preventing clear communication between the states must continue.

_And, should the trial somehow not create enough of an impact,_ the Governor thought grimly, _there are… other methods. Havlok and I made sure of that._ He mused momentarily on the sheer ruthlessness of his second in command, for few men would dare suggest the destruction of a Starfleet ship simply as a political maneuver. His suggestion of involving the android, however, had been sheer genius, and Corikh had immediately perceived the effectiveness of the ploy. Shaking his head slightly, Corikh wondered how he had ever doubted Havlok's loyalty, despite his slightly eccentric behavior of late.

As if answer to that thought, the door chirped for his attention. "May I speak with you, _rekkhai_?" Havlok's harsh voice inquired through the intercom.

Puzzled, Corikh straightened in his chair. "Enter," he commanded.

The door hissed aside to allow Havlok and a rather callow Romulan warrior enter. Searching his memory, Corikh quickly identified him as Jektor, nephew of Senator Cantrik, a longtime ally of necessity. Attempting graciousness, Corikh inquired, _"Aeuthn qiu oaii mnek'nra, erei'Riov Havlok?"_

Havlok nudged Jektor forward. "This warrior has something to report, _rekkhai_."

Jektor stiffened quickly before Corikh's measuring gaze as the Governor analyzed the youth. Deeming Jektor to be no more than what he seemed – the second son of an aristocrat who had not yet tasted the blood of this first battle but remained determined to be a warrior for the Empire – he gestured curtly. "Report, _Erein Jektor tr'Ethien_. What was your assignment?"

Focusing his attention on the wall slightly above Corikh's head, Jektor said, "I was placed on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ to ensure the crew's cooperation, sir." Waiting for Corikh's nod, he went on. "When first I received my position I was assigned patrol with _khre'Arrain_ Matlok." Corikh narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to place the name. After a moment's consideration he identified the man: a nondescript but powerful _Rihannsu_, as many who served under Corikh were chosen to be. "Matlok and I also served as guards for _erei'Riov_ Havlok during his patrol circuits of the ship." Looking hesitantly at Havlok, Jektor cleared his throat and continued, "Not long after we were assigned to the _Enterprise_, Matlok left his post on Havlok's orders and didn't return."

Corikh looked at Havlok. "Why?" he asked bluntly.

"Matlok reported to me as I requested, sir," his second replied, "but I told him to report to the _Lakorix_ for the remainder of the journey. It didn't occur to me that a warrior such as he would disobey orders." A hidden message spoke from Havlok's posture.

Corikh saw that and turned to Jektor. "Dismissed," he said crisply.

Jektor bowed and backed out of the room.

Pinning Havlok with his gaze, Corikh echoed his earlier sentiment. "What else?"

Havlok met his eyes squarely, a trait that never ceased to impress Corikh. "I was the last Romulan to see him, _rekkhai_, but I don't think I was the last person. My inquiries have revealed that he was last seen in the turbolift in the _Enterprise_."

"You suspect foul play?"

Havlok nodded curtly. "Normally I would counsel patience and delay action until after the trial. In light of the current situation, however, we need to discover if Matlok is still alive." He leaned forward. "He was a guard of your guests on Saatilvik, and it would be most inconvenient if he talked to anyone."

Corikh stiffened. "True. What do you plan to do?"

"Take a squad and search the _Enterprise_, sir," he responded immediately, prosthetic eye gleaming madly. "Should I discover any betrayal on the part of their crew…"

Corikh smiled. Perhaps they would find a legitimate reason to dispose of the _Enterprise_ yet. "Assemble the squad at once," he commanded brusquely. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Monitor the situation here, however. I have no wish to lose the services of such a talented officer as yourself should our secondary plan require activation."

Havlok smiled slightly in a macabre response. "Of course, _rekkhai_." Saluting smartly, he turned and strode from Corikh's office.

Pondering the meeting for a few more moments, Corikh shrugged and turned back to the screen of data. Havlok would attend to the matter. The Governor had every confidence in the ability and loyalty of his second in command.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Energize," Navarre said in Havlok's harsh tones. Soon he and the five warriors he had assembled glittered into being in Transporter Room 3 on the _Enterprise_.

A lieutenant he didn't recognize was waiting for them, two solid pips gleaming on her collar. "I don't know why you came, Romulan," she said, striving to be as polite as such words allowed. "But you won't find anything amiss."

Navarre leveled a cold look at her. "Must I remind you, Lieutenant, that you are still under orders from your Captain to allow us access to the _Enterprise_ as we wish until after the trial is concluded?" As he spoke he stepped from the transport pad and advanced a few steps to the door. A mischievous impulse seized him. Turning to her with a severe expression, he demanded in harsh tones, "Are you saying that you do not wish to cooperate?"

She flinched. "N-no, sir."

He withdrew his disruptor from its holster and primed it to killing intensity, making sure that the Romulans had full view of his action. Casually pointing it at her, he signaled the Romulans to form a line and mimic him. The woman, weaponless, paled as the two ensigns behind the control panel, similarly unarmed, drew back in fear. "I suspect exactly that. _Ourhhe ru ohrie,_ _ssuej'd'ifv?_" he told the Romulans. They smiled viciously, raising their hands higher in anticipation.

Then, twisting, Navarre firing, searing off the Romulans' hands at the wrists. As they gaped in surprise at their abruptly reduced appendages he calmly lifted the focus of his weapon and burned through their throats with a single steady beam. They landed with one sound, acute incredulity evident on their stiffening features.

The lieutenant gaped at him in astonishment. "What-?" she stuttered, then fell silent. She started and turned around nervously as the two ensigns slumped to the floor in a dead faint. Navarre took the opportunity of her distraction to return to his human form. When she whirled to face him, her mouth dropped open as she stared, bereft of speech.

"You're welcome," he said wryly. "First tell me this: are all the Romulans still near the bridge?" She assented hesitantly, eyes slightly wild. "Good." Gesturing expansively towards the transporter pad, he inquired, "Can you sabotage these?"

Breaking free from her shock, she managed, "Engineering could isolate the entire ship, if need be."

He grinned. "Perfect. We wouldn't want anyone to interrupt our little party, now, would we?"

Finally she smiled, though the confusion lingered. "I suppose not." She looked at the bodies. "What about them?"

Pointing at the ensigns, he said, "Revive them and let _them_ dispose of the trash. Then instruct them to lock the door and go directly to engineering." He handed her a handful of small objects. "These are miniature magnetic field activation devices. Activate them in the most crucial parts of the ship – the bridge and engineering, to start with. It will prevent the Romulans from transporting directly to those locations if our little rebellion is found out." He ignored the confusion on her face: the technology was exclusive to the Elite, and not often required or used. "I'll go take care of the rest of the transporter rooms while you disable them through the computer. Get it?"

Her understanding inspired a manic grin. "Got it."

"Good." Navarre turned to depart.

Hesitantly she spoke up. "How did you-?" she began, then trailed off, obviously uncertain of what to ask first.

He shook an admonitory finger. "Ah, ah, ah – secrets of the trade and whatnot. Can't tell you anything." Assuming a serious mien, he decided to expand on his previous orders. So far, nothing he had ordered any of the Starfleet personnel to do would directly violate the current agreement between Starfleet and the Empire. In a split second decision, he determined that the crew would need to be ready to handle any potential future problems once Corikh's betrayal of the tacit agreement became widely known.

"Once you've accomplished your tasks, I want you to quietly find and arm as many of the crew members who can handle a phaser as possible and get them all to engineering. It'll be a squeeze, but I want absolutely no one in the corridors of this ship after an hour has passed. Anyone in their quarters stays there, doors locked, anyone doing bridge duty stays there. Anyone else—" he cocked his thumb and forefinger and mimed firing, pleased to notice that she only paled slightly before nodding again in acknowledgment. "One hour, Lieutenant. Get to work." Not waiting for her nod, he turned and exited the room, shifting into Havlok's form as he passed through the door.

There were only fifteen Romulans currently aboard the ship, none of which would present any problems to Navarre's disguise and ability. Most of them were on the bridge or guarding Data's defunct body in the Captain's ready room. Navarre smiled. He loved simple things.

He accelerated down the corridor towards the room that held his secret stash of Elite equipment, mentally reviewing his plans.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"I heard that your coronet was broken," the blond woman said.

Sienae didn't look in the other woman's direction as Viktris plied her hair into a severe style. "Did the Proconsul tell you that?" she inquired a trifle coldly.

The other woman nodded, face serious. "I extend my condolences, Senator – such a relationship is difficult to sever so abruptly. I may not agree with your politics, but respect the endurance of pain."

This time the Senator _did_ turn to her, gaze appraising. "Solidarity, _erei'Riov _Sela? From you?" Viktris ceased her ministrations and stood still, waiting.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Sela said, "I may have chosen the path of a warrior but I do not ignore the call of power or my gender." She stood, demeanor stiff. "But if you wish me to leave…"

The other waved a hand in a conciliatory manner. "Forgive my sarcasm, Sela." She sighed heavily. "I have not had an easy time of late."

The half-human nodded appreciatively from her position just inside Sienae's bedchamber in the suite reserved for the Senator to use during her visits to the seat of government. Sumptuous splendor surrounded them in unmitigated pride, the red wood from the Revnik homeworld Kilparr accenting the luxury of the Citadel, the center of power on _ch'Rihan_. Lady Sienae, due to her rather confrontational relationship with Proconsul Neral, seldom chose to use these quarters, but evidently judged the day's events too important to retreat to her home on the other side of the city.

"So I've heard, my lady. And yes, Neral is my source of information. I've hardly spent a moment with him this past day without Senator Serlin there as well." She shook her head and smiled tightly, all movements displaying precise control. "They're both such schemers."

"Yes," Sienae said, a trifle sadly. She straightened and looked at the mirror in front of her again, motioning Viktris to continue her work. "Discussing the trial and war, were they?"

"No," Sela responded. "Serlin spent his time trying to convince Neral not to let the treasonous actions of one human threaten the Alliance." Sela's dubious expression clearly showed her disagreement with that particular sentiment. "Neral's withholding his judgment, though."

Sienae, eyes lost in thought, answered vaguely, "At least they're not relying on Governor Corikh for advice." Taking umbrage at this derogatory remark against one of the most prominent former leaders in the Romulan military, Sela swiveled and headed for the outside door. A small sound caused her to look back, and to her astonishment, she saw a single tear trickle down Sienae's cheek.

Sela measured the other with her eyes. She knew herself to be a fighter, a trait inherited from both of her parents – her mother Natasha Yar and her father, a _Rihannsu _General. She also reveled in her passionate nature, a legacy of her mixed parentage. She had never considered herself to be a diplomat or counselor, preferring the strong retort of weaponry and action to words. Confronted with this clear evidence of distress, her initial reaction was to flee.

Yet something held her back. Perhaps it was the exposure to the Senator and her history Sela had learned during her youth. The lady's reputation in the Star Empire was formidable, and it had been partially to Sienae's credit that Sela had been allowed to achieve her dream of becoming a warrior for the Empire. Not all in high places had been particularly sanguine with her half-human heritage, despite her father's reputation and her own actions. The Senator had worked through circuitous paths to ensure that those voices of opposition were diminished, yet Sela had never been able to determine why the Sienae t'Khellian would exert herself so for a half-breed.

Sela had met Sienae all of twice before today, and both times had envied the woman her power, grace, and incredible presence. Even the Proconsul himself evinced respect bordering upon awe. He had admitted to Sela in private that the Senator's self-possession had more than once overpowered his limited empathic capabilities. Her awesome wealth, ancient clan name, aristocratic arrogance, and pure _Romulan_ beauty should have repulsed Sela, who lacked these things. Yet the tear touched something deep within her, something primal and ancient beyond words.

"Sienae," she said informally, marveling at her daring. When the woman didn't respond, she said, with more force, "Sienae." Finally the other turned to face her, eyes dead. Taking a deep breath, Sela continued. "Serlin needs you." She couldn't tell the other details – of Serlin's heart-wrenching weeping in front of Neral as he had described (after consuming voluminous amounts of Romulan ale) when Sienae had broken her circlet, of the emptiness in the Senator's hollow gaze, of the formerly formidable Senator's constant caress of the broken silver still tucked in his clothing.

Something flickered in the Senator's gaze before an implacable calm settled over the woman. "If Serlin wishes to converse with me, he may." A pleading entered her face. "Our last exchange involved some…harsh words, Sela. I would appreciate it if you told the Senator that I retract them."

Realizing that this was the closest Sienae would ever come to admitting error, Sela inclined her head respectfully before the woman's pain. "I will do so, Senator."

"You have my gratitude," she responded formally. "I thank you for your visit, Commander. I have always followed your career with interest. Were it not for our difference in ideals, I believe we could be friends."

Sela bowed slightly. "You shall always command my respect, my lady," she murmured. Excusing herself, she left the suite and went in search of Senator Serlin.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Sienae met Viktris' gaze. "Finish quickly. We've many people to see before visiting Neral."

Viktris nodded in acquiescence. "Shall I fetch Merak?"

"By all means," the other replied.

A smooth voice came from the doorway. "Then I shall strive to accommodate you, dear Aunt." Startled, Sienae turned her head to find Merak lounging in the portal, eyebrow raised laconically.

She blinked. "I thought you were at my estates in the city."

"I was," he answered nonchalantly, pretending to buff his nails on his tunic.

In a low voice, Viktris murmured, "He's his father's own."

Merak grinned. With a nonchalant wave of his hand, Sienae found her hair arranged in a deceptively simple fashion that Viktris could never have achieved without hours of labor. The glare she directed at Merak only elicited a mischievous smile.

She found herself marveling at the change in him since his rather abrupt appearance in her quarters on the _Enterprise_. Although neither Viktris nor he himself had been able to explain his presence sufficiently, she accepted his existence and all its implications and treated him as a beloved nephew or, as she preferred, son. His demeanor had softened under her emotional warmth, and the uncertainty that had plagued him before was almost undetectable now. Her ire melted and she smiled.

Sensing her mood, Merak bowed gallantly. "I knew you loved me."

Sienae quirked an eyebrow. "Why so effulgent a disposition, my nephew?"

His grin turned vicious. "Another one of those bothersome Q showed up."

Viktris looked up sharply. "Why didn't you summon me?"

Shrugging, he began a meticulous inspection of his clothing in the mirror. "I didn't want to disturb your duties. Besides, he turned out to be no problem at all. I bashed him around the solar system a couple of times, and then sent him on his way with his tail between his legs." He made a face as he changed the colors of his robe. "I think my father overestimated their abilities."

"Or underestimated yours," Sienae said quietly.

He cast a glance at her. "Possibly." Then an ingenuous smile smuggled onto his face. "Don't we have some errands to run? For some reason I feel as if nothing could possibly go wrong today."

Laughing, Sienae stood and proffered her arm. "That," she stated, "is quite possibly the best news I've ever heard."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"You're sure it's safe?" Killian inquired, face intent.

Navarre, once again human, nodded and held aloft the slim Romulan _gatrik_. "I myself planted it." His face suddenly went grim. "Corikh is the only _living_ being who knows it was placed there."

Wincing slightly at the Lieutenant's choice of words, Guinan noted that Killian seemed oblivious – or indifferent – to their implications. "Well, then," he murmured, "let's awaken the dead, shall we?" He turned to Brent. "Push the button, Max."

Brent bent over the supine form and quickly activated the android.

Data's eyes opened and glanced around. "I assume from your non-Romulan features that the _Enterprise_ is again under Starfleet auspices." Quickly leveraging himself into a standing position, he glanced around the ready room. "Where is the Captain?"

Killian exchange a loaded look with Navarre. "Currently our good Picard is awaiting trial on Romulus."

Data met his gaze and cocked his head. "I do not understand."

Feeling Killian's expectant gaze on her, Guinan verbally stepped in. "Technically the matter concerning the Captain's alleged betrayal of the tacit agreement between the UFP and the Star Empire has yet to be decided, Data." She paused slightly as he oriented his full attention upon her. Aware that much depended on gaining Data's willing cooperation, she chose her words with care. Should the android decide that his prior orders from Captain Picard to neither cause nor allow interference in any of the legal proceedings overrule Killian's assessment of the evidence of Romulan betrayal, they would be forced to render him defunct again. Guinan much preferred him to be conscious during the coming crisis.

"I don't know how much you were told before you were deactivated, so I'll simplify. The Starfleet Council issued a communiqué that stated that any harm perpetrated upon the personnel or property of the _Enterprise_ without due process of accepted interplanetary law would be considered an egregious breach of peace." He nodded seriously, acknowledging her words. "All but Captain Picard were immediately released. The Captain himself is currently in custody in the city of Romulus."

"Why am I here rather than with the others?" he asked, perplexed.

She suppressed a slight smile. "The Romulans decided that you qualified as 'property', so you were put with the rest of the 'property' on the ship. More importantly, however, Corikh decided that should events not resolve themselves to his liking the _Enterprise_ would be destroyed. And," she said, raising a hand to forestall his burgeoning questions, "he also determined that you were to be the agent through which this destruction would be carried out."

"That is not possible," he replied confidently. "They did not alter my programming, and in no other way would I willingly cause harm to any Federation vessel."

"That wasn't what they had in mind," Guinan murmured. "Lieutenant Navarre can tell you more."

Navarre held up the _gatrik_ for Data's scrutiny. "This little gadget was placed inside your abdominal cavity by Corikh and myself while you were nonfunctional. It contains enough destructive power to destroy this vessel quite spectacularly. What Corikh doesn't know, however, is that the remote detonation chip has been nulled."

Data's brow furrowed slightly as he sorted through the presented information, a reaction so _human_ Guinan found herself increasing her estimation of Data's growth. "_You_ helped install the weapon?"

In answer, Navarre shifted into Havlok's form. "In a sense."

Data blinked as the shapechanger flickered back to humanity. "I was not aware of your nature, sir."

Killian grimaced slightly. "Actually, Commander, his _nature _is nominally a secret of the Elite. Jonny was selected because of his combat skills and fluency in Romulan; his secondary capabilities weren't initially considered important for this mission." Leveling a stern look at Data, he added, "You are to consider this an order from the highest authority of the Elite: forget the Lieutenant Navarre is anything but human."

"Yes, sir," Data responded automatically. "The command is so noted."

Relaxing slightly, Killian said, "Excellent." He smiled minutely. "Any further questions?"

Data appeared to consider that. "Even if the Romulan government is not directly responsible for the destruction of the _Enterprise_, the Federation would place at least partial blame on the Empire. The diplomatic relationship between the two governments would be, if not decimated entirely, severely encumbered." The android shook his head. "Such a deed is completely devoid of logic."

"Corikh is enamored of his hate, Data," Guinan replied.

A strange expression rippled across Data's features. "What of the delegation team?"

Slightly confused at this tangent, Killian said, "Planetside, guests of the Romulan government."

"But safe?" he persisted doggedly.

"They are diplomatically untouchable," the Elite said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

As a wave of relief released a hidden tension from Data's demeanor, Guinan felt a sneaking suspicion that it was not the three male members of the delegation team that engendered such a concern for their welfare. A veneer of professional pragmatism dropped onto his expression as his gaze sharpened on something behind them. Guinan turned and followed his gaze to the Romulan standing in the doorway.

Killian had already swiveled to face the newcomer. "Yes?"

The Romulan saluted sharply. "The Governor's calling for Havlok, _rekkhai_. You told me to alert you immediately."

Navarre swore curtly. "Thanks, Nekron. I'll take it on the bridge." Suiting action to words, he phased into Havlok's form even as he walked out of the room.

"The Romulan?" Data asked.

"One of the more sympathetic of the prisoners," explained Killian. "Apparently he served Adara's mother before she was killed by Corikh." A hidden amusement flickered deep within the Elite's eyes. "I've always found that hatred towards an enemy is as easy to channel into service as loyalty." His tone lightened. "We're using him to receive calls from Romulus on an audio link only, citing technical problems to deny visuals. I'm not about to start taking chances now." He grimaced slightly. "The Romulans know the Universal Translator when they hear one, unfortunately, and the remainder of the prisoners are not amenable to our concerns."

"That is understandable," Data said, tone serious. Or was it? Guinan could have sworn she detected a vestige of humor in his voice, but any such indication of facetiousness was completely absent in the android's next statement. "What do we do now?"

Killian's eyes lit up. "Well, now," he said, rubbing his hands together in the ancient gesture for self-satisfaction, "let's discuss that, shall we?"

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_susse-thrai -_ she-wolf, bitch  
><em>vang'radam<em> - traitor  
><em>Aeuthn qiu oaii mnek'nra<em> - All's well, Commander Havlok? - literally, "Advise me whether all is well"  
><em>Erein Jektor tr'Ethien<em> - Ensign Jektor of House Ethien  
><em>khre'Arrain - <em>Lieutenant Commander  
><em>Ourhhe ru ohrie,<em> _ssuej'd'ifv_ - Wait for orders, understood?  
><em>ch'Rihan - <em>Romulus


	19. Elsewhere 8

Q's eyes snapped open as cognizance set in, scrutinizing the immediate vicinity. When his gaze touched upon Adara, he paused, unsettling emotions stirring within him. She returned the stare, demeanor unafraid, gaze steady and unwavering. His ire dissipated before her calm, and he sighed heavily. Attempting to rise, he quickly discovered to his consternation that his body refused to respond.

"Wait a little," she cautioned him. "You're still weak."

Gritting his teeth, he obstinately tried again, and after a few tries, he finally succeeded in sitting upright. Carefully gaining his feet, he extended his senses to analyze what was around him as she quickly rose to stand beside him. "Where are we?"

She gestured dismissively. "This? It's nothing. When you wouldn't revive I decided that I had to come here."

"Wouldn't revive?" he said, latching onto the remark. "What do you mean?"

"The injuries you sustained were quite grave."

"I remember…the pain," he stated cautiously. "What happened after that?"

She quickly recounted the events following his collapse. Her face grew wistful as she described the Hall. "It was like nothing I had ever seen," she said bemusedly. "I wish that I could have stayed there forever."

"In the Hall, every moment _is_ forever," he replied absentmindedly, remembering the saying from the time of his tutelage under Viridian. He studied her intently, but found that the environment and his recent weakness suppressed his ability to perceive her fully. Uncomfortably suppressing his reaction at this unlooked-for limitation, he looked at her shrewdly. "You were the other presence," he said, not quite asking.

Shrugging, she ran her hands through her luxuriant hair before explaining, "You defended me against my enemy. I figured I could at least undo the damage he did to you."

He narrowed his eyes. Even though his sense of her was limited to what he could see, he knew enough about mortal behavior to realize that there was more. "Continue."

Her hands twisted around themselves. "I…" She looked away from him, contemplating nothing specifically. "I knew you before we met."

His eyebrows rose. Distressed at this lack of emotional control, Q quickly lowered them and asked in a deliberately detached voice, "Indeed?"

Still refusing to turn to him, she continued, "I feel as if I have always known you, and that our first meeting was merely a resumption of something far older." _Now_ she met his gaze. "I have seen events and experienced feelings that I find myself unable to explain fully."

"Feelings?" he drawled disdainfully, ignoring his inner upset. "You mean emotions? Passions? The foibles of mortals that plague their existence?" He snorted, a human mannerism he had learned from Riker, and one of the few he enjoyed using. "I have not the time for this foolishness. I thank you for your aid, but I'm afraid I have more important things to do than listen to some confused female tell me that she doesn't understand life or reality." Ignoring the deepening flush on her cheeks, Q willed himself to that segment of reality that he thought of as home.

Nothing happened.

Astonished at his failure to perform such a simple task, it didn't even occur to him to defend himself as Adara's hand swung in a vicious circle and slapped him resoundingly across the face. Unprepared for this physical assault, he reeled from the blow, losing enough of his balance to land on his posterior in an undignified manner. As he rubbed his face with one hand, she advanced towards him, arms stiff with rage.

"I will _not_ be dismissed," she grated between clenched teeth. "I will _not_ be ignored, or treated like a child, or callously catalogued as someone who pretends to knowledge and power that supposedly only belong to the Continuum." Settling back on her heels, she relaxed slightly and whispered, "I am the daughter of Viridian, son of the most powerful being known to the Continuum. I alone stand on the line between mortality and immortality, and I alone command the powers that lie in the order of the infinite and the chaos of the instant. My powers are _not_ insignificant, and I refuse to accept your cavalier attitude of my mortal heritage or your condescending view of its worth. I will warn you this once: treat me with respect. Otherwise I may just forget to take you with me when I leave!"

Stunned by her verbal onslaught, Q nodded, wary of any further emotional outburst. "Very well," he said slowly. "I will treat you courteously. And," he added as he painfully stood up, "since we are using these rather delicate forms, I would truly appreciate it if you conjured some chairs."

She shrugged and gestured ostentatiously. A scabby little chair of worn corduroy appeared, followed by the materialization of a sumptuously soft velvet chair. "Have a seat," she sniffed.

Experience made him cautious. "Ladies first," he invited in return.

A smile finally twitched the corners of her mouth. Without warning, the unsightly chair became a mirror image of the other one. Taking the one near her, she gestured almost imperiously at the other one. "If you would."

Quickly dispelling his mirth, he took the offered chair graciously. Leaning back into the softness, he steepled his hands before his face and said, "Well?"

"Why don't you start?" she said with deceptive sweetness. "After all, you're the one who's supposedly omniscient."

Refusing to rise to the bait, he said, "I don't ascribe to that particular delusion. For instance, I have to ask you if you shared my last…vision before I regained consciousness."

"You mean, was it as disturbing to you as it was to me?" she inquired with unnerving accuracy. "Your part was certainly undeniable, and my presence…well, let's just say that I felt as if we were remembering it together."

"But you…I…" Q stammered, momentarily flustered. Then he harshly grabbed control of his emotions, clenching them with the iron fist of reason. "I find it difficult to grant any significance to that vision. After all, I _am_ a married Q with a bouncing baby Junior. I have," he shuddered involuntarily, "_responsibilities_, and they don't involve anything remotely involving what was in that strange figment of fantasy you presented to me. It was obviously just a fabrication of your—"

She cut him short with a wave of her hand. "Untrue, Q, and you know it. That wasn't a figment of your underdeveloped imagination, that was _real_." She waved her hand at their surroundings. "More real than where we are now, certainly."

Ignoring the insult, he forced himself to analyze the vision and reluctantly conceded that she was right. "Yet it still doesn't make any sense," he snapped in exasperation, not noticing that he was speaking to her as an equal. "If it was a memory, when did it occur? I am certain I had never before met you before I so foolishly interrupted Cetus' business."

Her eyebrow quirked in amusement at his choice of words before her face became more serious. "You said before that in the Hall, every moment is forever."

"Yes," he said, "Viri—Your father taught me that."

Something flickered in her eyes - anger? envy? The emotion passed too quickly for Q to identify. "If the members of the Continuum are truly as powerful as they seem to think they are," he nearly choked on _that_ particular comment, "then perhaps the reason they know so much is not so much inherent ability as it is prolonged, repeated exposure to the Hall."

He stared at her with growing consternation. "We always assumed we were gifted because of our responsibilities."

"Protecting the universe from your own failures?" she asked shrewdly.

He couldn't find an answer to that. Perhaps because of his inability to form a coherent thought, Q abruptly noticed for the first time that despite her Romulan heritage, her chosen appearance closely resembled the woman of the strange visions he had suffered recently. A strange shiver of something… unknown, something _delicious_ yet _terrifying_, tingled down his spine. _I am a responsibly married Q,_ he reminded himself, forcibly pushing the sensation away. Eventually he managed to say, "It can't be that simple." He looked at her, abruptly uncertain. "Can it?"

Face pensive, she leaned forward even as her chair shimmered into a different configuration to allow her to place her arms before her. Speaking with deliberate care, she stated, "Those with the ability to access to the Hall without fear of becoming subsumed into the Heart of the Storm acquire the ability to exist throughout all reality in one manifestation. This allows the Continuum to be infinite in number as well as in scope. And, as the universe continually expands with more and more realities spawning in limitless number, the Continuum expands with it. And the most tightly kept secret of the Continuum?" She smirked. "You owe it all to _mortals_, for it is _mortals_ that are the main instigators in causing realities to split, diverge and breed, thus granting the Continuum more and more power."

He blinked. "How did you know that?"

Ignoring the interjection, she continued, "Mortals, on the other hand, possess a different component in each of the separate parallel universes." She met his gaze. "That would explain why you didn't experience these 'visions' until visiting the Hall after meeting me. It also clarifies why the visions weren't real _until_ I encountered the Hall."

Q scrutinized her closely, surprised by her astute perceptions. How one not raised among the Q or tutored by an elder of the Continuum managed to acquire this astounding knowledge he could not quite apprehend, but her observations rang true deep within him. A faint suspicion stole over him that someone might be interceding with her development, but he quickly dismissed the notion and returned his attention to her as she admitted, "I still don't understand how we recognized each other on the _Enterprise_, though."

Q's cheek suddenly throbbed as the memory of her fleeting caress flashed through his mind. "I don't know," he confessed softly, resisting the urge to touch the burning warmth. "Perhaps if you were to inform me more fully of your own past—"

She directed an amused look at him. "Couldn't I say the same of you?"

He hesitated. "Such a sharing of minds is not done with those not of the Continuum."

Her gaze challenged him. "Which begs the question: do you accept me as part of the Continuum?"

Caught by surprise, he worked his way through his own reaction to that inquiry and came to an inescapable conclusion. "Yes," he realized with a certain degree of consternation. "I do."

She stood and walked over to him. He rose to meet her as she held out her hands and said, "Then I give you permission, if you will give me yours."

Unaccountably nervous, Q diffidently closed his hands around her own. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes did now waver. "Just do it," she whispered harshly.

Q closed his eyes and centered himself around the core of serenity. What Adara proposed was a far more intimate act for the members of the Continuum than marriage or creating a child. It was the ultimate act of trust, completely free of guile, and demanded an enormous amount of responsibility from the one who initiated the probe.

Yet when he met her gaze, the mystery called to him. He braced himself and initiated the sharing.

Some time later, Q saw Adara's body shudder when he finally released her hands. Her eyes sparkled with incandescent fervor as she looked at him. "That—I—"

Feeling something dormant stir within him, Q managed a nod. "That…went deeper than I expected through both of us. Perhaps I should—"

"No," she insisted, "it felt exactly right." Her lips twitched. "Married, hmmm?"

He flushed. "Well, it was a spur of the moment thing, you know, for the good of the Continuum and the Universe and all." Looking away from her burgeoning mirth, he sighed in exasperation, "Look, it was necessary at the time!"

"And how is Junior?" she continued, eyes twinkling.

"He's _fine!_ Just fine!" Groaning, he put his head in his hands. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Adara sobered abruptly. "You brought a child into the multiverse, a new Q such as has not been seen in millennia. Yet you do not know where he is, what he is doing, or how he progresses."

"His mother—" he began.

"His mother, _your wife_," she said quietly, "requires more than just an occasional visit. Are you a father or a breeder?"

Revolting from the mental image that particular phrasing summoned in his mind, he sighed. "Fine, fine, I will go see them when we are finished here."

She smiled sadly. "That's a good plan."

Reacting to the change in her tone, his mind suddenly was flooded with her memories, and the pain and loneliness claimed his mind for a glittering instant before dissipating once more. Sobering, he met her gaze, wanting to _connect_ with her again – a desire which thoroughly mystified him. "Your agonies…" His face twisted with an all-consuming hatred. "If Corikh were before me now, I'd take that collar and—"

"No!" she interrupted him, putting a hand over his mouth. "Go no further!"

He barely heard her over the sudden dizziness her touch entailed. Reaching up slowly, he removed her hand wordlessly. Some of his turmoil must have shown through, for she looked away uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," he said, unsure exactly what he was apologizing for.

They gazed at each other in awkward silence. Then she sighed. "I suppose that's it, then," she remarked a trifle sadly, wistfulness warring with self-deprecation. Abruptly she resumed her Romulan aspect. "You may leave now," she stated as if talking about the weather. "I remove my limitations."

He sensed the truth behind her words and flexed his power. Reality obligingly warped at his discretion. Building a portal to where his wife and son were generally to be found, he turned and regarded it. He had instinctively offered the quaint little nebula he had thought of as home for the purpose of raising Junior, and his wife had acceded to his suggestion. The nebular clouds swirled invitingly before him, tantalizing him with their peace and celestial beauty. Memories made newly acute by his recent experience assaulted him, reminding him of his training there with Viridian, his later more introspective moments of emotional excisement, his growth and maturation as one of the more respected if not admired members of the Continuum.

Then, strangely, he remembered how lonely it was there, even now, recalled the aimless wanderings of the slow-moving currents as they sifted through all aspects of the nebula. He realized that he wasn't done here, that there was more to discover, and that he _needed_ to pursue this a while longer, or he would leave his son now as quickly as he had left him before.

And Adara was right. Junior deserved better than that. He sighed. _Responsibility. Picard and Janeway would surely take every opportunity to tell me that it's about damned time, I suppose. _

Slightly incredulous at his own actions, Q dissolved the portal and turned to face Adara once more.

She stood regarding him calmly, expression a mask of serenity. Had they not recently tread carefully down the channels of each others' thoughts, she would surely have convinced him of her picture-perfect contentment to leave matters in their current indistinct state. To Q's heightened familiarity of her awareness, however, her mind roiled with uncertainty and self-doubt. Abruptly a strange tickling sensation moved through him, and he realized that her feelings somehow resonated still within him, incoherent and conflicting yet discernible.

_please don't leave me*must leave people not mine past not mine present not mine*unfair unfair future possible*no emotion arrogant can't believe in any power but his own*could change had emotions could regain him*enough must be with Continuum with his wife with his son find his own happiness*and mine what of mine*irrelevant irrelevant emotions dangerous follow his path*never sooner die*if necessary_

Shivers ran down his spine. "No!" he heard himself cry in response to her last thought.

She blinked in surprise at his outburst, unaware of his perception. "What?"

Abruptly at a loss as to explain the sudden awakening of the long atrophied passions within him, he slowly walked to where she stood. She merely met his gaze, face questioning and expression slightly wary. Her mild apprehension of being mocked by him touched him, and he recoiled from the part of him that enjoyed the sensation: something within him had indeed shifted during their mental intimacy. Although that change had already started to fade, displaced by the arrogance and indifference of uncounted eons, enough remained for him to enable something completely unexpected but absolutely essential.

Hand trembling slightly, he reached up to touch her white cheek, pulling his finger up and over an angular eyebrow. Her eyes widened in stunned recognition as blood rushed to the area beneath his touch. The contact again sent that mysterious thrill through him. Abstractly he noticed both his mortal and immortal aspects reacted to the strange disturbances within, lending the incident the tinge of the bizarre.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered in wonder. The inquiry rang between them fervently: never had Q experienced such as this, certainly not towards any mortal being. For all that he was now married, it was an arrangement of the Q, logical and practical - not an arrangement of passion or emotional disturbance. Even his attempt to seduce Janeway had merely been a means to an end, nothing more. This… this odd sensation, this _twisting_ within, was as foreign to him as fear of old age. All his previous derision of the gentler emotions of humans rose in his memory and mocked his newfound perception. _I believe,_ he thought idly, _that I owe Picard an apology._

"I don't know," she replied, taking his hand into her own.

A fiery tingling passed through the touch, and each felt something within _shift_ slightly, drawing them closer to one another.

"And what are your intentions towards my daughter?"

They whirled simultaneously to find a Q in Romulan aspect standing near them. "Elder?" demanded Q as Adara said, "Father?"

Viridian, green robe glittering and eyes emanating starlight, nodded gravely. "Aye." He glanced around them, respect on his features. "Fascinating." He returned his gaze to his daughter. "I don't believe this place even existed before you came here."

Adara stared at him, eyes burning with incipient animosity. "It still doesn't exist," she gritted through clenched teeth.

The Q hesitated, sensitive to the underlying tension emanating from her. "Ah," he said warily, "this is true." He cocked his head and leaned back on his heels, regarding her with a speculative look on his face. Then, a resigned expression settling onto his features, he said, "Very well, then. I apologize."

Obdurate and immobile as stone, she glared silently at him.

Shrugging slightly, Viridian said, "Adara, your current abilities are a delight and a joy to a non-aging father, of that I can assure you. This," he indicated nothing with a sweeping gesture, "if naught else, indicates your puissance." A strangely painful regret tinged his gaze. "Yet I cannot explain my absence and previous lack of assistance to your satisfaction. I shall not speak what must not be revealed, and I will not be impelled to do so."

Her penetrating silence failed to alleviate.

Slowly Viridian walked forward until he stood directly in front of Adara. "Daughter," he said in a peculiarly imploring tone of voice, "do not ask this of me."

Nothing.

Q felt an oppressive weight begin to build in the area around them, quickly attaining the formidable pressure of the core of a pulsar, a tension at whose center lay Viridian. And, slowly, inevitably, his former tutor's resistance diminished until finally the elder Q bowed his head. "Very well. I will answer your questions." Before Adara could speak, however, he met her gaze firmly and added, "But not now. There are still certain matters you must deal with before you know the truth." Viridian's eyes quickly glanced towards Q, then returned to Adara. "Besides, I think it likely that your brother would wish to be present."

Adara nodded, face pensive. "True." Then her glare returned to bore into Viridian's face. "Do not think I will forget, Father."

A flicker of chagrin rushed across Viridian's expression. "The thought never crossed my mind."

"Forgive me for interrupting this fascinating conversation," Q said, nonplussed at his exclusion, "but why are you here?"

Viridian threw him a shrewd glance. "I'll answer your question after you answer mine, Q," he said with a twinkle of mischief gleaming in his eyes.

"What-?" Q began, then remembered what Viridian had said as he appeared. A slight flush warmed his cheeks. "I hardly think it to be any of your business, Viridian," he said stiffly, only peripherally noticing that he addressed the elder Q as an equal. "And besides, I _am_ a married Q."

Viridian chuckled. "Ah, well, that explains everything." Q merely continued to glare at him, not sharing in the mirth. "And do you honestly think that _anything_ lasts forever, young one?" his former mentor asked him lightly.

"I know of something that will," Adara whispered.

Looking at his daughter sharply, he narrowed his eyes. "You… perceive more than we thought you would," he admitted in a musing tone of voice. "Perhaps it is indeed necessary to offer some small part of an explanation to you now." With a minute shrug of his shoulders, Viridian straightened to his full height and fixed his eyes on nothing. His voice assumed measured cadences that in the esoteric language of the Q reflected the pulse and beat of the heart of the universe. "In the beginning…"


	20. Chapter 12

Proconsul Neral of Romulus shifted slightly in his seat. The dark red wood, normally moderately comfortable, currently conveyed little joy into his tense body. The smoothness of the surface, which before had been a soothing complement to his musculature, now only emphasized the chair's lack of padding or other amenities designed to ease tension. The Proconsul firmly and deeply believed in the superior physical endurance of the _Rihannsu_. His backside, on the other hand, obstinately insisted that perhaps, for once, the weakness of a cushion would greatly alleviate his discomfort.

He ignored that persistent voice: he had other things to worry about.

A shadow fell across the desk behind which he sat even as he detected Sela's emotions, their intricate chaos controlled by silken threads. He relaxed marginally, for the half-human warrior, despite her past failures to the Empire, remained one of the few individuals he trusted. Glancing up, his eyes met her steady gaze. And, as she always did, she bowed before his authority.

"Yes?" he inquired coolly.

"The Senate has assembled."

He nodded to himself, relieved that the final stage of this regrettable situation had arrived. "Excellent. Inform them I will arrive shortly."

She nodded and quietly left the room.

He took a deep breath and released it in several sharp bursts of air, striving for equanimity. Certain of self-control, he rose and performed his habitual final evaluation of his appearance in the mirror he had installed next to the door.

Without warning, the door swept open, allowing entrance to four mysterious figures. Silent and slightly ominous, black hoods concealing their features, they lined up in front of him and waited, mien expectant.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded indignantly of the intruders.

The shortest of the group raised hands to hood and flung it back. "Hush, Neral," Sienae said peremptorily, manner brooking no nonsense. "It is time for serious discussion." At her nod, the other figures proceeded to reveal their own identities.

"Unless it pertains to the trial, Senator, I am afraid I have no time for—" He stopped short as light defined features on his unexpected visitors. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Serlin and Ju-galrianmei exchanged a wry glance of peculiar camaraderie before the Deltan nodded responsibility to Serlin. Shrugging minutely, Serlin said, "Proconsul Neral, I formally drop all charges against Captain Jean-Luc Picard of Starfleet and request that he be released from Imperial custody immediately."

Neral gaped at him in disbelief before snapping his mouth shut. "Have you gone mad?" he hissed. "It's gone too far." _And I have too much to lose,_ he added to himself.

His friend cocked his head slightly, eyes shrewd. "What would be worse for your plans, Neral: not putting Picard on trial, or putting him on trial and being unable to convict because of evidence that has recently come to light?"

"What new evidence?" he grated, fighting to maintain control of the situation. "You have Picard's own statement that the girl was on his ship. We have her blood taken from the _Enterprise._ We even have Corikh as a witness in addition to-"

"Corikh," a voice unfamiliar to Neral stated, "will not be in a position to provide reliable witness testimony."

Pivoting slightly to confront the fourth figure, a young _Rihannsu _male, Neral demanded, "What would prevent Corikh tr'Jeiai from pursuing justice?"

A ghostly chuckle filled the room. "Corikh? Justice? I assure you, the terms are mutually exclusive." Neral opened his mouth to snap protest when suddenly the youth stepped forward, meeting the other's heated gaze with a strength drawn directly from the stars themselves. "Does not the law and custom dictate that no one accused of murder of a _Rihannsu_ may himself present testimony in any legal proceeding save in his own defense?"

Neral blinked. "That is indeed the law and custom." His mouth replied the expected formula as his mind raced to catalog the naggingly familiar features of the youth.

"Then, Proconsul Neral," the youth drawled, "I believe that Corikh will indeed be powerless to object to Picard's release." As Neral sank into a nearby chair in confused silence, the other smiled in evident enjoyment of the Proconsul's bewilderment, and murmured, "Have no fear. A trial, with some slight alterations, will offer up an appropriate sacrifice to bolster the Empire's flagging self-esteem." A sad smile spread across his face. "And its honor, so long misused, shall again be cleansed of its corrupted patina."

Taking umbrage at that remark, Neral demanded hotly, "Who are you? I cannot allow you to threaten _Rihannsu_ dignity through some misguided—"

The youth slammed his fists together, the sheer anger in his posture halting Neral's outburst. "_Rihannsu_ dignity? Should _Rihannsu_ dignity have allowed the foul murder of one of its most prominent citizens to remain unpunished for over twenty years? Should _Rihannsu_ dignity have ignored the years of pain and torture inflicted on an innocent child in the name of hate and mistrust? Do not speak to me of the honor of the _Rihannsu _or the Empire, Proconsul, until you can prove its worth."

Neral narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the stranger before him. Inexplicably, a cold chill ran down his spine as he met the other's gaze. "Who are you?"

"I," the youth grated in short, harsh consonants, "am Merak i-Ra'tleihfi tr'Khellian." He reached up to his collar and pulled it aside to reveal a brand as ancient in lineage as Neral's own: the brand of s'Khellian. Neral's eyes widened in the shock of recognition as he realized who stood before him. "The time for justice has come."

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Sunlight filled the amphitheater, enveloping the multitudes within a stern grip of heat-inspired lethargy. The gathered members of the public had long ago ceased shifting restlessly while glancing nervously at the huge double doors which served as the entrance. Instead, they chose to slump listlessly upon the rows of stone that granted seating in this, the most ancient edifice of the Citadel of Romulus.

Corikh clenched and unclenched his left hand rhythmically, fighting a burgeoning sense of restless weariness edged with unfamiliar fear. _Something's wrong,_ he repeated to himself, the words acquiring the insistence of a mantra. Warily he glanced at Jurak, ensconced several benches to his left. The former _Tal Diann_ agent nodded slightly and held up his right hand, revealing the device that would spell the end of the _Enterprise_ should events proceed in a manner unsatisfactory to the Governor.

Narrowing his eyes, Corikh scrutinized the remainder of the crowd, paying particular attention to the attitude of the _Rihannsu_ gathered on his left. A slight shiver of suspicion crawled across his shoulder blades as few of them, even his purported allies, deigned to meet his gaze with anything but cool recognition. The rest of the crowd, present merely to witness the spectacle of a Starfleet Captain at the mercy of the Imperial Senate, displayed increasingly frequent signs of impatience at the inexplicable delay in the proceedings.

As his subconscious concerns abruptly peaked into a fever pitch, the clarion calls declaiming the arrival of the Senate rang throughout the ancient amphitheater even as the doors at the entrance swung back, permitting the ranks of the august body to proceed to their appointed seats. Proconsul Neral took his appointed seat at the head of the Senate. Suspicions growing, Corikh searched the moving crowd for Serlin. Unable to find his erstwhile ally even after the full Senate had entered the theater, Corikh's gaze swung back to consider the gaping entrance. _Where was Serlin?_

Ponderously, Neral intoned, "The Senate summons the Continuing Committee, for treachery has befallen the Empire." Another fanfare sounded. Corikh turned to the entrance and gaped as the Committee, the most powerful individuals on Romulus, serenely entered the arena and took seats prepared for them. Neral leveled a stern look at them. "You have been summoned to sit in judgment against the betrayer."

Attempting to discount the pain of his fingernails gouging into his palms, Corikh listened as _khre'Riov_ Klantan, the Committee's current Speaker and also a former member of the High Command, replied solemnly, "We present ourselves to the summons of the Senate. We declare that justice shall be served."

Incensed, Corikh forced himself into still stoicism, even as the realization blazed across his mind: _the Continuing Committee only sat in judgment against _Rihannsu_._ Picard was not to stand trial before the Committee and Senate this day. The insufferable captain of the degenerate Starfleet would not be required to offer the ultimate sacrifice for the loss of _Rihannsu _pride.

Instead he, Corikh tr'Jeiai, proud warrior and servant to the Empire, had been selected to pay the price of human perfidy.

His eyes narrowed in fury as he searched the Senate and ranks of _Rihannsu_ for any sign of betrayal. _After all,_ he growled to himself, _a warrior should memorize the face of his final kill._

Neral stood and acknowledged the Committee with a formal bow. "And who has been accused of treason against the Empire?" he intoned.

Fully expecting Serlin to make his appearance at this time, Corikh blinked in confusion as an unfamiliar youth presented himself before Neral. In ringing tones, he declared, "One who has put his own interests before that of the Star Empire. One who has suborned his officers into following his depraved path. One who has freely taken the lives of Imperial citizens to ensure his own power. One who has abused the trust given him to the detriment of the Praetor and the Senate."

Warned by his premonition of doom, Corikh commanded himself not to flinch as hands roughly seized him from behind and compelled his cooperation with carefully calculated holds. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the passionless face of a _Tal Shiar_ agent look toward the Committee, awaiting instructions.

The youth turned and pointed dramatically at Corikh. "I, Merak tr'Khellian, do accuse Corikh tr'Jeiai of these egregious and unforgivable acts against the Star Empire."

Corikh ceased struggling as hate rendered him immobile. Oblivious as they attached manacles to his wrists and ankles, he glared at Merak as Proconsul Neral nodded solemnly and stated, "Let the trial begin."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Let the trial begin." The voice of the Proconsul echoed throughout the bridge of the _Enterprise_, chilling in its lack of passion.

"Receiving signal, sir, and feeding through the Universal Translator," Data reported. "Transferring to main screen." Abruptly the serene stillness of space shifted into a view of the amphitheater. Although distorted, the picture provided an accurate representation of the region before Neral, indicating that the source of the image seemed to be slightly behind Corikh.

A low whistle emanated from behind Data. "Impressive technology, sir." Swiveling in his chair, Data looked at Lieutenant Birge, who stood alert at the Security console. "And here I thought it was just a really small communicator."

Killian, seemingly at ease in the Captain's chair, merely shrugged indifferently. "Nothing is 'just' anything among the Elite, Lieutenant." His gaze traveled across the screen, taking in every detail of the court's layout. The distraction evident in his off-hand tone of voice, he said, "It can also serve as a stunner, though only once and that causes all other functions to cease."

Intrigued, Data asked, "I had understood such devices to still be in the developmental stage, Commander. How is it that they are currently available to the Elite?"

Killian glanced at him, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "You mean someone actually reads those boring articles?"

Data cocked his head slightly. "I regularly peruse all information available on current scientific and technological research, sir. The information is often quite interesting."

The human only grunted in reply, expression amused. "And do you happen to recall any other incipient projects?"

Quickly searching through his memory banks, he said, "I believe that after the successful development of the multiple function communication device, they were to formulate a standard communicator diminutive enough to be surgically installed into the recipient."

Birge blinked. "An _internal_ communicator?"

"I don't think we need to pursue this idle speculation," Killian said mildly. His eyes, in contrast to his almost gentle tone of voice, glinted dangerously at Data, who took the hint and adopted silence.

"Yes, sir," replied Data.

Satisfied, the Elite returned his attention to the mainscreen.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Proconsul Neral regarded the young Romulan standing before him. "The Committee has witnessed the brand. Do any question his identity as Merak i-Ra'tleihfi tr'Khellian?"

Klantan, appointed spokesman for the Committee, inclined his head. "The Committee is satisfied of young man's identity, Proconsul. You may proceed with the questioning."

Returning his scrutiny to Merak, Neral declared, "Describe the basis of your accusations against Corikh tr'Jeiai."

Closing his eyes Merak bowed his head. After a few seconds, he lifted it again, expression somber. "His crimes include ordering the death of my mother and nursemaid, as well as kidnapping and abusing my sister Adara and myself."

"You witnessed the death of these two women?"

Merak ignored Corikh's hiss of denial as he said calmly, "Yes."

"Can you describe the individuals who killed your mother?"

Merak shrugged against his rising emotions. "There was only one, a Romulan called Havlok. He had been in my mother's employ since before I was born."

"When did these events occur?"

"Shortly after our fourth birthday."

One of the Committee objected, "Isn't that a little young to remember such events clearly?"

Merak turned to face the Committee. In a deathly calm tone of voice, "He started by slipping a special chemical into our food. Not poison, or a sleeping agent, but rather something that would incapacitate us with paralysis and pain. While my sister and I lay there, helpless, he took a knife and performed such acts on our mother that can never be forgotten. Then he crammed us into a chest and smuggled us out of the city." The objector recoiled from Merak's intensity. "No, we weren't too young to remember the events of the day clearly."

Neral lifted an eloquent eyebrow. "What did Havlok wish to accomplish by taking you?"

The other smiled lightly. "My sister and I possess certain…abilities. I assume they wished to control those abilities." Waving aside Neral's incipient inquiry, he continued, "Some of the tests our captors used to determine the extent of those abilities were painful. When we recovered from our imposed paralysis, we killed the guards holding us onto the observation table."

"Killed?" Neral asked, startled. "But you were only—"

Merak inclined his head. "As I said, we are…unusual. Anyway, after that, Adara was sedated again and taken away, and they told me they'd kill her if I disobeyed them in any way. The next thing I remember was being taken onto a bird of prey, deposited somewhere cold, and left to freeze to death. I guess they were afraid to try to kill me directly."

"And your sister?"

Merak spread his hands. "They kept her, of course. One person is always easier to control and use than one. We were so used to working together we didn't really know how to handle being apart from each other." He grinned. "Not anymore. Adara finally escaped not long ago."

Corikh snorted. "Using your fantastical 'abilities'?" he demanded with tones drenched in sarcasm. "Let us cease this drivel and return to more important—"

Before Neral could react, Merak, face dark with anger, turned on the Governor. "And is this also fantasy, _sir_?" Ostentatiously raising his hand, he pointed at Corikh and snapped his fingers.

With that, Corikh turned human.

Everyone gasped in astonishment. Corikh glanced around, unaware of his abrupt change. "Well, imposter?"

Smirking, Merak formed a mirror in front of him.

Corikh stared into it disbelievingly, tentatively feeling his eyebrows and ears. His face drained of color. "You really are—" he began, then bit his lip until a line of red human blood appeared at his lip. Quickly wiping it off and looking at the color, he paled even further. "Impossible."

"Not for me," Merak stated quietly. At his words, the mirror disappeared and Corikh suddenly reverted to his native species. Turning to face the Committee, he added, "My sister possesses abilities equal or possibly greater than my own. She needed no aid to escape our captors once I reminded her of our heritage."

Klantan leaned forward. "Hold, young tr'Khellian. You have yet to reveal the connection between Havlok and Corikh."

A familiar voice spoke. "I believe _I_ can explain that particular relationship, General."

Only the silent _Tal Shiar_ still holding him tight restrained Corikh from murder as Serlin moved forward to stand before the Committee and, with meticulous precision, dig Corikh's grave.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Data, caught up in the action on the planet, pulled his attention to Killian as the Elite raised his hand to his mouth. Activating his secret communicator, he murmured, "Left."

Obligingly, the picture on the screen changed its angle, centering on the Romulan youth now waiting demurely as Serlin presented evidence to the assemblage. Killian grunted. "That's Merak, all right, just as Navarre reported. How did he get here?"

"Who is Merak?" Data inquired.

Killian glanced at him. "Remember Admiral Baygard? That's her adopted Romulan."

Data blinked in surprise. "The one who disappeared during the attack on Alcatraz Station?"

Killian nodded affirmation.

Suddenly, the young Romulan swiveled to face the group on the bridge, cocked his head slightly, and impudently crossed his eyes before returning his attention to the proceedings.

Killian exchanged a glance with Brent. Then, simultaneously, they turned to face Guinan. She put her hands on her hips, gaze disparaging. "Gentlemen, I thought we had agreed that I am not omniscient. I can't tell you how he knew we were watching him."

"So you say, Lady," Killian breathed.

"_Will_ you stop calling me that?" she demanded in a mildly exasperated tone of voice. "I am a mere civilian employee of Starfleet, a refugee from a planet long gone. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Perhaps," Killian murmured as he grinned crookedly. Data wondered at the whimsy of this previously impassive man. "As you wish, Lady. I have learned never to engage in a battle of wits against a superior foe." His eyes flickered to the screen again. Again using his special communicator, he said, "Scan crowd." The picture slowly panned across the mass of people. Abruptly he inhaled sharply, even as the motion of the image ceased. "There."

Brent nodded. "I saw it. Figures he'd leave the job to one of his lackeys."

"What job?" Birge asked, puzzled.

Stabbing a finger at Jurak as he waited patiently in the audience, Killian said, "The remote detonator control." He grinned. "Navarre was right. Corikh doesn't know that his weapon is muzzled." He glanced at Brent. "Is the shuttle in place?"

Face solemn, the Elite nodded. "Aye, sir. They await the signal."

Moving his glittering gaze to the screen where even now Senator Serlin coldly dissected Corikh's disobedience to the treaty that served as the foundation to the Alliance, Killian murmured fervently, "I hope Nekron knows what he's doing."

Data glanced at him, uncertain how to interpret the odd expression on the human's face. "I feel impelled to remind you that the chances of their surviving the potential reaction of Corikh to the trial grow smaller as time progresses. Should either Nekron or Beckett miscalculate—"

A glare from the Elite commander silenced him. Then, voice quiet, Killian stated calmly, "I am fully aware of the risks involved in their task. My duties, not only as Elite but as an officer of Starfleet, demand that I make certain choices." A vague grimace of unease ghosted across his face before it again became impassive. "Despite the evidence against him, it will take something spectacular to prove to the Committee that Corikh is more interested in his own well-being than that of the Empire. Guilty of _murder_, certainly. But murder is bread and butter to Romulan politics. Something more incriminating is required before the coffin can be fully nailed shut."

"Thus the subterfuge with Nekron," Brent said.

Killian nodded. "The Governor knows that the destruction of the _Enterprise_ while in orbit around Romulus would be the spark that burns the tenuous thread of the Alliance. The completion of such an act would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Corikh cares more for his own interests than the future of the Empire. Somehow, I doubt that even Neral could ignore such an act." A macabre amusement glinted in his eyes. "The trap must be sprung before the feeding frenzy can begin."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Nekron settled back into the seat of the shuttle, idly removing the restraining belt. Glancing around the cabin, his eyes calmly examined every detail and filed them for later analysis. The man beside him smiled with tentative friendliness and asked, "How does it feel to be free?"

He looked at the other more closely, analyzing body language and facial expressions, reflexively searching for signs of insincerity or deceit. Detecting only a forced effort at amicability, he relaxed and replied, "Good."

His erstwhile companion quirked an eyebrow. "Only good?"

Folding his hands before him, he shifted his gaze to rest on the device waiting patiently in front of them on the console. "Consider the circumstances, Lieutenant. It remains in doubt whether we will live to enjoy the fruits of our labor."

Beckett inclined his head. "You may have a point."

A beep echoed throughout the small space, followed by a harsh voice speaking in Romulan. "Federation shuttle, this is the _Lakorix_. Why have you detached from the _Enterprise_? You are in violation of the agreement between our governments."

Nekron straightened in his newly acquired Romulan uniform and established a limited visual link. The sullen face of a bored Romulan _arrain_ appeared on the small screen. Assuming the most arrogant expression possible, Nekron replied in kind, "I am on special assignment for _erei'Riov _Havlok. If you wish to question my actions, I suggest you relay your inquiries to him."

The Romulan officer blinked in surprise, then blanched slightly as he noticed Nekron's uniform, peeled from the body of one of Havlok's men on the _Enterprise_. A hasty yet thorough cleansing had rid the cloth of the green smears of Romulan blood. Navarre had assured Nekron that wearing this particular wardrobe would earn him the immediate respect and fear of any prying Romulan official. Judging from the other's reaction, the Elite's assertion proved to be true.

"Ah," the Romulan replied, visibly struggling to regain his equanimity. "I do not believe it necessary to disturb him. Carry on." The picture flickered, then vanished.

Beckett wryly glanced at the corpses piled on the floor behind their seats. "Oh, I don't know. The old boy looks fairly open to interruption at the moment, wouldn't you say?"

Nekron glanced indifferently at the bodies. "Havlok no longer concerns me." His lip twisted. "It is now Corikh who must die."

Beckett glanced at him sharply. "This isn't about revenge."

"No?" Nekron turned and regarded Beckett with an unsettling gaze. "Call it what you will, Lieutenant. The dish is long chilled, however, and many wish to dine."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Picard, nominally hidden as a guest of Senator Sienae, listened in astonishment as Serlin concluded his presentation of Corikh's crimes. _It seems improbable that one individual could commit so many crimes against his own kind and still retain high rank,_ he mused. _Are Romulans truly so reluctant to find one of their own in the wrong?_ He glanced at the few faces of the Continuing Committee he could see from his seat, and frowned slightly. _Not all of them seem convinced. What more do they need?_

Beside him, Ju-galrianmei shifted slightly and murmured, "And now we shall discover whether I can predict our beloved Governor's strategy correctly."

Even as Picard cast in inquiring glance at him, a harsh voice pierced the air of the amphitheatre. _"Lhiu! Komne Ulhei Fumae!"_ Picard jerked his gaze back to Governor Corikh,who had risen from his seat and now challenged the Proconsul with upraised fists. The Romulan continued his tirade. "Justice has perished! I invoke the Rite of _Ulhei Fumae_!" Jabbing a tense finger at Merak, he said, "I demand the truth of his words be tested!" Snapping his fingers at Jurak, he said, "Here is my champion. Whom do you choose, whelp?"

Ju-galrianmei smiled in satisfaction. "Right on schedule. It appears I was correct in my assumption that all his solutions must be in some way physical." In answer to the question posed by Picard's raised eyebrow, he added, "Victory in physical combat is still accepted in Romulus as evidence of Sho Ka Ree's approval."

The Continuing Committee held a quick consultation. Klantan slowly rose from his chair, disapproval on his face, and raised his hands to the heavens. "The Rite supersedes any decision of the Committee. We entrust this trial to the judgment of the All."

"Does Merak have to face Jurak?" Picard asked, eyeing Jurak with an appraising eye.

The Deltan only winked conspiratorially. "That would be beneath him, according to the ritual. He must choose as champion any currently present."

"Then who—" Picard began.

"My lord!"

The voice rang stridently through the amphitheater. Astonished by its source, the furor dimmed as a woman knelt before the surprised Merak. "I would defend you, Lord Merak, as your father bade me," Viktris stated in a calm, clear voice.

Merak studied her intently. "These are not my father's enemies, Viktris."

Viktris raised her head to meet his gaze. "I will not fail you again, my lord."

The young Romulan held her eyes for a long moment before inclining his head in acquiescence. "As you will, most faithful of servants," he murmured quietly. Shooting a hostile glance at Corikh, he declaimed dramatically, "Here is my champion, Corikh tr'Jeiai. May justice prevail."

Picard glanced at Ju-galrianmei, mildly gratified at the utter shock on the normally composed Deltan's face. "Not the champion you had in mind, hmm?"

The Ambassador almost spluttered. "But—I told him—" With a visible effort he regained control of his equilibrium. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"I guess I'm superfluous now," a voice behind them muttered. Picard turned to find a Romulan warrior shaking his head in disgust. Noticing Picard's attention, he chuckled and said, "I was told to introduce myself as Anya, Captain. Now, if you'll excuse me—" And, before the astonished Picard could react, the strange individual bowed slightly and returned to his former position, fiddling with a glittering object dangling from his scant Romulan earlobe.

As hasty preparation ensued to clear an area for the combat, Neral turned to face Corikh. "Do you insist upon this ritual, Governor?" he demanded.

"I do," Corikh stated flatly.

"Very well." He turned to the chosen warriors, both standing patiently before him. "You must fight each other without weapons, utilizing only the strength of your arm, your will, and your faith. The victor shall be the one left standing." He raised his hands above his head and slammed them together. "Let the Rite commence!"

Immediately Jurak launched himself at Viktris, hands a blur of motion. With astonishing agility she spun from the path of the assault and neatly stabbed rigid fingers into the small of her opponent's back. Corikh's agent collapsed onto the ground, but managed to roll out of the way before Viktris could score a more telling blow. Leaping to his feet, Jurak settled into a coiled stance as they began to circle one another warily, searching for weaknesses in each other's manner and bearing.

Picard, startled not only by Jurak's ferocity but also by Viktris' unexpected skill, risked a glance in Corikh's direction. The Governor's face seemed troubled, as if he had not expected the woman to be quite so competent a warrior. A covert glance around the theatre revealed that the astonishment pervaded the area.

The only exception stood tall and proud directly opposite from Governor Corikh on the edge of the impromptu arena. Expression smug, Sienae t'Khellian watched the combatants engage in the dance of death and smiled.

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><p>.<p>

Viktris hastily ducked and raised a hand, fending off Jurak's attack with a quick jerk of an elbow. The other retreated slightly before resuming a slow stalk around her. She studied him dispassionately, her body automatically responding to his movements with a proficiency acquired during fifteen years as an orphan girl in the harshest sections of the Romulan slums. A lifetime of anticipating unprovoked attacks and surviving vicious assaults by men twice her size had honed her survival skills to a fine edge, and the time spent in Sienae's service had proven hazardous enough to justify their utilization. As well, the Senator had paid for her lessons in the ancient, and oft neglected, martial art of _llaekh-ae'rl_, resulting in a peculiar amalgamation of ancient wisdom and modern street-smart savagery.

Jurak's skill, though formidable, derived from _Tal Diann_ training. Her previous encounters with _Tal Diann_ agents had provided ample evidence that the formerly unsurpassed warriors had fallen prey to that most insidious of enemies: hubris. Their assumption of superiority had allowed certain limitations to sneak into their training.

Yet there was more. _Our dance only conceals the truth,_ she admitted privately. A fleeting sadness crossed her face. _I know you too well,_ she thought sorrowfully. _After all, it was I who brought you into Sienae's service so many years ago, and you proved to be a faithful agent. Yet my lord must prevail._ Holding back tears, she whispered for his ears only, _"Arhem usae, a'rhea…"_

His face remained impassive at her words, but she saw his dancing hands flicker a barely noticeable signal, one of the many they had developed over the years of their increasingly intimate relationship: _Vauthil s'Khellian._ Swallowing regret, she gave an imperceptible nod and straightened.

Abruptly she grinned contemptuously at her opponent. When he dropped back, ready for an attack, she made an unmistakable gesture remembered from her childhood that caused a few of the more delicate _Rihannsu_ ladies in attendance to blush and avert their eyes. Then, a look of utter scorn on her face, she laughed disdainfully and presented her back to him in an unspoken declaration of victory.

Apparently enraged at this show of dominance, Jurak seemed to lose control of his carefully checked temper. With a low snarl, he lunged towards her exposed back. Viktris deftly slipped out of the way and grabbed his right arm as he sailed by. Acting swiftly before he could regain his balance, she shoved a rigid hand deep into the captive armpit. A subdued _pop_ informed her that she had succeeded in forcing the bone from the socket. Releasing the arm, she flung him across the arena. Arm hanging loosely at his side, Jurak almost immediately launched an onslaught that inexplicably left him open for counter-attack.

Instead of dodging the attack as before, the former guttersnipe grasped Jurak's extended wrist and pulled him forward, again using the Romulan's momentum. Then she forced herself onto the ground and rolled, forcing Jurak, close as a lover, into the space beneath her. With a quick vise-like grip she took the Romulan's damaged shoulder and pulled hard, forcing Jurak onto his stomach. Promptly she slammed the heel of her free hand into a specific area of the warrior's spine. Something shifted underneath her blow, and abruptly all of Jurak's nerves below that point ceased to function, rendering him effectively, if only temporarily, paralyzed.

Slowly Viktris stood and faced the Proconsul and bowed, hands to her head, completing the _Ulhei Fumae._

Nodding in acknowledgment, Neral turned to Corikh. "Your cause is proven unjust."

.

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><p>.<p>

Corikh clenched his jaw tightly, fighting to contain his overwhelming fury. "I submit to the justice of the All," he grated sullenly. The relative ease with which Viktris had defeated one of the _Tal Diann_'s finest former agents astonished him. Then, as Neral turned to the Committee, he felt the momentary removal of attention from him. Before his guards could react, he dashed to Jurak's side and grabbed the remote. It was time. _And if Havlok dies, Picard's blood shall avenge him._ Not bothering to conceal his actions, he raised the remote and savagely depressed the button.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Now!" Killian ordered. Max pushed the button.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Now!" said Nekron as the red light on the console began blinking. Grip steady, he activated the _gatrik_ and threw it forward as he simultaneously hurled himself into the transporter beam that Beckett summoned. The shimmer of their forms transporting to the _Enterprise_ became lost in the colossal explosion as the _gatrik_, content as always, completed its mission at last.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Abruptly a chilling cackle echoed throughout the theater. Startled, Picard turned to stare at Corikh, who stood rooted in the center of the arena, shackled arms pointing into the sky. At an urgent signal from Sela, two _Tal Shiar _agents slipped behind the Governor and gripped his arms in an effort to restrain him. After a brief struggle, Corikh slashed his gaze around the theatre until he located Picard. "I hope you enjoy your victory, Picard," he snarled, "yet the shame of defeat is not entirely mine." Jerking his head towards the heavens, he shrieked triumphantly, "Say farewell to the _Enterprise_!"

At his words a brilliant explosion lit the sky directly above the amphitheater.

Picard staggered back, stunned at the sight. The taste of ashes filled his mouth as the conflagration melted away, but the growing pain of despair in his chest refused to dissipate. _Not again,_ he thought.

A hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to discover the self-proclaimed 'Anya' behind him. Hope dawned as Picard met the other's gaze and arched an eyebrow inquisitively. In answer the somber face across from him winked mischievously, then resumed its former grave expression.

Picard felt his knees almost buckle as intense relief swept through him.

Meanwhile, Neral turned to Corikh, face white with fury. "You presume much, Corikh."

Corikh stood as straight as he could in the agents' suddenly crushing grip. "And more, Neral." Turning his head, he spat, "Jurak! _Now!_"

Time seemed to slow as Jurak, forgotten in his humiliation, reached into his tunic and withdrew a phaser. Quickly pointing it at Serlin, he sighted along its length and settled into the peculiar stillness necessary to guarantee accuracy. Sela swore and reached for her weapon, but Picard realized that her attempts would only provide vengeance for the death of the Senator, not prevention.

"_Beest, gekha!"_ Startled, Picard searched for the source of the cry. A majestically indignant Sienae, hands on her hips, stood expectantly, as if she expected her command to have an impact upon the assassination attempt.

And, miraculously, Jurak pulled his arm back and dropped the phaser even as the beam from Sela's weapon burned across his side.

Life resumed its normal pace.

Although the pain from the phaser fire was evident in his face, Jurak seemed to ignore it, instead staring at Sienae with quiet impassivity. Propping himself into a sitting position with his functioning arm, he met the woman's gaze, face filled with resignation. _"Bedaoi, _Sienae t'Khellian_."_

Sienae held up one hand, palm towards him, and bowed her head. _"Khnai'ru rhissiuy, daehlen_."

Gathering his shredded dignity about him, Jurak bowed to her with difficulty, apparently indifferent to the agony the motion surely inspired. Straightening, he turned to Viktris and smiled sadly. _"Jol-ao au. Aoi jol-ao au."_

Holding back tears, Viktris bowed her head. _"Aoi, e'lev."_

"_Jurak!"_ Corikh bellowed. Ignoring the irate Governor, Jurak lowered his head and closed his eyes, not stopping the life's blood pouring from his wound. Outraged at this quiet submission, Corikh heaved free from the guards' grip and stalked over to stand before Jurak. "Well, _vang'radam_?" he growled, hands clenching and unclenching unpleasantly.

Jurak raised his head and silently gazed back.

Corikh stood still momentarily, then threw his head back and laughed heartily. Before either of the guards had regained enough presence of mind to act, he looked at Jurak again and spat, _"Veruul."_ The he gripped his agent's head in a cruel embrace and, with a calculated jerk, wrenched it violently to the right.

The audible _snap_ as Jurak's neck shattered filled the packed theatre with an empty resonance.

As Jurak's corpse slid to the ground, Viktris rushed forward to catch it. With peculiar tenderness, she lowered it slowly to the ground and arranged his limbs with dignity. Closing the dead man's eyes, she finally turned to face Corikh. Without a word she stalked to stand before him. "The dish is well chilled, Corikh. Beware of those who choose to eat from it."

Puzzled, Picard watched as Viktris calmly turned and returned to Merak's side. Searching his memory to explain her peculiar reference, he turned to look at 'Anya'. A rapt expression claimed his face, and he whispered something over and over again. Leaning closer, Picard listened closely, and finally was able to discern words.

"_Revenge is a dish best served cold."_

Picard stared first at the man standing beside him, then at the Romulan standing in judgment before Neral. He heard Neral take a breath. "The government of Romulus condemns you, Corikh tr'Jeiai. The Rite has proven your culpability, and your own actions demonstrate your flagrant disregard for the welfare of the Star Empire."

Picard saw Klantan of the Continuing Committee stand and face Neral. "This is our task, Proconsul." Neral nodded acquiescence.

Klantan nodded curtly at the youngest Committee member, who moved to stand before Corikh. With meticulous patience, he held a phaser to Corikh's head. "At your command, _rekkhai_."

Picard heard Klantan take a breath to issue that command when suddenly another voice sliced the stillness. Picard's muscles tightened as the shock of recognition swept through his body.

"The creature is _mine_."

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* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_Lhiu! Komne Ulhei Fumae! – _Enough! I demand the Ancient Duel!  
><em>llaekh-ae'rl – <em>literally, Laughing Murder, a form of marial arts on Romulus  
><em>Arhem usae, a'rhea – <em>I am sorry, dear heart  
><em>Vauthil s'Khellian – <em>Victory to House Khellian  
><em>Beest, gekha<em> – Stop, warrior  
><em>Bedaoi – <em>Goodbye forever  
><em>Khnai'ru rhissiuy, daehlen – <em>Thank you (superior to inferior), friend  
><em>Jol-ao au. Aoi jol-ao au – <em>I love you. Forever I love you  
><em>Aoi, e'lev – <em>Forever, my love  
><em>vang'radam – <em>Traitor  
><em>Veruul - <em>Fool


	21. Chapter 13

Whipping around to face the voice, Picard failed to conceal the astonishment that blazed through his being. There, calmly standing in the middle of the area before the Proconsul, stood a trio of shimmering figures, two men and one woman. Even as his mind struggled to associate the hatred and venom of the voice he had just heard with the cool and impassive tones to which he was accustomed, Q took a step forward and pointed at Corikh.

"The creature is _mine_," the immortal being repeated, his quiet voice burning with a fervor that struck a primeval core deep within Picard, a chord that resonated with all the violent undertones and vicious vengeance instilled by millions of years of reinforced instinct within the human race. Suddenly every fiber in his body throbbed with insatiable anger and hatred as the desire to destroy the surrounding enemies seized him. Desperately suppressing the rampant rage, he squeezed his hands into tight fists, forcing his fingernails to bite into the flesh of his palms. The haze of pain cleared his thinking slightly, and he managed to thrust the loathing far from his mind.

Temporarily restored to sanity, he returned his attention to the trio, helpless before the devastating effect of Q's fury. Around him the tension in the amphitheater mounted as others, unaware of the reason, also reacted. Picard suddenly felt suffocated in the gathering cloud of animosity.

Ju-galrianmei turned to Picard, face uncharacteristically pale. "What is happening?"

Picard nodded towards Q. "His will can shape reality."

The Deltan's breath hissed. "And now his will is murder."

Picard only nodded slightly in response, fighting to retain his self-control.

Suddenly the figure next to Q reached out and placed a hand upon his outstretched arm. "No."

The word reverberated in the air, bringing with it the sweet wind of restraint and wisdom, understanding and grace. It spoke not only to Q's statement, but also denied the fury and nihilism that statement awoke in those surrounding them. Although the anger did not entirely dissipate, that quiet refutation stilled the burgeoning savagery, and Picard felt the tense pressure around him ease.

Yet the gentle peace didn't affect everyone. Face still suffused with anger, Q whirled to face the being next to him. "That _animal_ deserves infinite suffering for his actions," he said harshly.

"No," the woman repeated, and Picard realized with a start that it was Adara, though substantially altered in multitudinous ways since he had last seen her. Her features seemed somehow nebulous, as if her very species shifted from second to second, trying them all and rejecting them each in order. "Don't do this."

"Then do we let him go?" Q challenged. "These pathetic mortals lack the imagination to punish his crimes adequately." A strange pleading entered his voice. "Are you just going to let him walk away?"

Light flashed in her eyes – literally. "No. But _I_ will decide his fate."

The third figure, a seemingly ordinary Romulan, finally spoke. "Indeed, daughter? Then you'd better get on with it."

Adara directed a stern glare towards the elder Q. "_You_ stay out of this," she retorted curtly. "You're in enough trouble already."

The other snorted. "This Romulan's life does not deserve the extra time you're granting it through your prevarication. End it. Now."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you wish me to kill him so quickly? Some game you enjoy playing to alleviate the boredom of eons?" Mouth tightening, she grated, "Forget it, Father. I'm going to do this my way. The questions must be answered." A strange hesitancy fell over her. She turned to face Q, still glowering ominously beside her.

Picard found himself holding his breath.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

"Well?" she said softly. Despite the hushed tone of her voice, the word conveyed a complicated mixture of hope, despair, and affection. Q didn't respond, didn't acknowledge her inquiry. Stepping closer to him, Adara repeated softly, "Don't do this."

Q looked at her, gaze intent. In a gesture of exquisite tenderness, he cupped her chin in his right hand and searched her eyes. Between them passed quick flashes of communication, too brief, too overwhelming to be conveyed in anything as mundane as words. She felt the rage the memories of her past had awakened in him, his burning desire to strike out at the source of that pain in her life. She realized that Corikh, to him, was nothing more than a symbol of the depravation of her torments, the evil mastermind behind all her woes.

Yet Corikh had earned something more subtle than physical retribution. Striving to explain this, she murmured, "I require more than his pain."

"You are too gentle," he replied.

"No," she stated, steel entering her voice. "But the questions remain."

He smiled lightly. "You and your questions." His tense anger vanished. Lowering his hand, he stepped back and nodded. "As you wish. I will not interfere." His manner, however, suggested that should she request it, he would gladly bring the full weight of his wrath to bear upon the wretched scum.

Raising her hand, she brushed his cheek in gratitude. Then, face bleak, she turned to face Corikh. The fringe of her consciousness alerted her that others even now moved towards them: a mere thought stilled all those within the theater. A questing thought from her brother was answered with reassurance and a firm command to leave her to her task. Slowly she walked towards Corikh, who stared at her with eyes wide in frenetic sanity.

She allowed her external appearance to change subtly until finally, as she settled into position before the Governor and crossed her arms expectantly before her, she looked exactly like the half-starved Romulan that had escaped from the prison on Saatilvik. Ignoring the ripple of surprise that swept through the onlookers as they finally comprehended her identity, she forced Corikh's eyes forward to meet her own.

He stared back in sullen silence.

"Why?" she asked simply, inserting threads in his mind to impel truth.

"What does it matter why I did it?" he snarled, though she could taste the copper scent of his fear. "Just kill me and have done with it. No battles are won with questions."

"Answer me," she commanded as she pulled the strings she had placed in his mind, dragging the words from his mouth.

Groaning in pain, he responded, "I did what was necessary."

"For what?"

His face contorted with the effort to resist her insistent demand. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he finally gasped, "_Mnhei'sahe… Mnhei'sahe_ demands its sacrifice, and I willingly gave it what I could. Power is the ultimate currency in the Star Empire, and you represented a limitless source of power, if I could only figure out how to _use_ it."

"That's all?" Q sneered. "Adara—"

She held up a hand, stilling him, her heated gaze never leaving Corikh's face. "For twenty years, I existed in a world of darkness and pain, at the mercy of those who daily tore my mortality away piece by piece. I was tortured beyond endurance, probed and inspected like a slab of meat, restrained and fettered with more malice than any animal or slave had ever received. You ordered the death of my mother, abandoned my brother to the chill indifference of an icy grave, and shackled me inside the unassailable fence of my own agony." She placed her hands on either side of his face, ignoring his terrified flinch. "And you claim you did it out of some kind of culturally ingrained lust for power?"

"I—" Rational thought warred with fanatic loyalty in his face and thoughts. "I knew no other way."

Abruptly righteous indignation overwhelmed her hesitation. She drove her mind into his, scrutinizing his face, his movements, his thoughts. As her harsh search revealed nothing different than what he had already revealed, she growled, "And now you tell me that I went through twenty years of pure agony for damned _Rihannsu pride_?" Even as her thoughts formed the concept, Corikh dropped to the ground, writhing in agony, as her will shaped his pain. She catalogued every torment that had been performed upon her and gathered them into her memory, prepared to force Corikh to experience all of them simultaneously.

For one blazing instant, she beheld her revenge, complete in every detail.

Then he raised his head, and for an instant their eyes met. In his gaze lay a pleading not for mercy or freedom, but for an escape from the endless labyrinth of dead ends he had created through his aggressive pursuit for power. And beyond that, she saw the labyrinth for what it truly was: laid not of his own devising, but placed for him long before his birth. And, slowly, inexplicably, her anger died, and his pain died with it. Abruptly she saw Corikh as he truly was – tired, old, afraid – and not as the monster her nightmares had constructed. She realized that no punishment of her conjuration would prove as effective as leaving him to live in the cage he had constructed for himself.

_Just like Cetus,_ she abruptly realized. "You truly did _not_ know another way, did you?" she whispered as comprehension flowed through her. An acrid taste filled her mouth as she realized that, in the end, he must suffer whatever judgment his own people deemed appropriate and leave him be. An instant's rebellion that demanded brutal revenge shook her torso, quickly quelled as she clamped her mind around her decision.

With a sharp regret at the sudden epiphany, she understood the justice of what had been done to Cetus. And, even as she had refused to kill Cetus, so now she resolutely excised her hatred against Corikh and placed his fate into the hands of others.

Kneeling, she placed one hand upon his shoulder and said, for his ears only, "I meant no harm in being born."

His eyes regarded her, and suddenly Adara understood what he could have been, what indeed he might once have been had the Empire not ensured his failure through its very existence. "Perhaps not," he sighed. "I meant only to assure the success of the Empire."

"Only at first," she told him sadly, reminding him of his innocence. "In the end, you only sought to perpetuate your own."

He hissed as he realized how corrupt his dreams had become. The memory of his youth, so long buried, filled his eyes with tears. "Perhaps." Swallowing his regrets, he said woodenly, "And now?"

"You have been judged by that which you sought to become."

Hanging his head in defeat, he nodded. "Yes," he said.

Adara nodded abruptly and climbed to her feet. "Stand," she said harshly, in a loud voice.

Numbly he obeyed.

"Hear then my sentence, Corikh tr'Jeiai: I shall not harm you." No flicker of expression marred his features as he waited for her to continue. "Instead, I give you this gift: death won't claim you until justice has been satisfied, whether it be five years or five centuries." Her face grew cold. "But you _will_ be punished, for should your people fail to deliver justice's sting upon you, they shall suffer in turn." Corikh paled as several Senators, long-time rivals of the Governor, grinned in glee. Adara waited for the full impact of her words to work their way through his brain. Even as his face recovered its normal shade and his expression became one of resignation, she asked, "Do you acknowledge your sentence?"

Never once blinking or breaking eye contact, he said, "I am a warrior. I am _Rihannsu._ I will restore my honor as I must."

Adara nodded. They understood each other.

Negligently she released her hold upon those around her. Immediately the _Tal Shiar _agents seized Corikh and brutally pushed the unresisting man onto the floor, none too gentle in their efforts to render him immobile. Her father strode to her side and observed the process, demeanor radiating disapproval. "Was that well done, my daughter? Such leniency ill befits your heritage."

She turned to face him, forcing her face to remain neutral. "Would you have done it differently?"

"Of course."

"Then let me ask you this: why did you not prevent the murder of our mother?"

She felt the surprise and anger flash through him. "You are impertinent."

"Answer me."

He met her gaze. "The immutability of choice. I warned her, and she chose to ignore my warning." His eyes grew distant. "It is one of the gifts of mortals, to choose their own future."

"And the other gifts?" she asked acidly.

He looked at her. "Death and time."

She pondered this, nodding slowly. "Understood. Thus I cannot change _my_ choice."

An ominous glint entered his glare. "Are you quite sure?"

Stubbornly, she nodded.

Her father regarded her intently for a moment, then suddenly stepped back from her, an obscure pride suffusing his features. Lifting his face, he looked into the heavens, quirked an eyebrow slightly, and said expectantly, "Well?"

Surprised, Adara glanced at Q, mouth framing a question, when suddenly she felt it: a _presence_ so overwhelming the air seemed thick with the unmistakable syrup of atomic energy and dark matter. Astonished, she followed her father's steady gaze and attempted to discern any indications of the being's presence.

The starry expanse came from nowhere and encompassed the whole of Romulus, superseding the sun with constellations that hadn't existed for billions of years and others that wouldn't exist until all the stars currently living faded completely. And, as the sun disappeared, she realized that above them lay not an amorphous aura of power, nor a physical incarnation such as her father and Q assumed among mortals, but the full embodiment of the Eldest of the Q Continuum.

Something within that vast shadow moved, and Adara shuddered helplessly as a hand, immeasurably immense, reached down and cupped the entirety of the amphitheater into the shadow of its palm. Her mind struggled to accept the incredible sight of those colossal fingers curling around the enormous edifice even as above them a face formed, eyes and mouth capacious enough to contain entire galaxies. Words entered her mind, almost stunning her with their potency.

"_It is well."_

The, as quickly as the shadow had descended, it was gone. A mysterious force tugged at her, and dimly she realized that she was being taken along with it.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Picard blinked and looked around.

Adara was gone, as were Merak and the one she had identified as her father. Only Q remained, bearing a look on his face that Picard never would have thought possible: awe. Abruptly his face hardened as he muttered something under his breath. Feeling Picard's eyes on him, Q turned and met his gaze, a sardonic grin twisting his lips. "Greetings, _mon capitaine_."

Fighting the automatic irritation he experienced around the infuriating Q, Picard inclined his head in return. "Q."

Q laughed then, eyes glinting. "Such a warm welcome for an old friend, Picard! You must be careful, or others will suspect the true nature of our relationship." Pausing, he glanced at the sky, face pensive. "And what did you think of our visitor?"

Picard hesitated, tempted to shrug away the enormity of what had occurred in an attempt to annoy Q. Fortunately, his curiosity got the better of him. "I have never beheld the like."

Q nodded in response, equally serious. "Few have." A hint of his condescending humor returned. "But then, what do you expect from God, _mon capitaine_? A platypus?" Then, with a wink and an expansive gesture, he also vanished.

Picard glanced around the amphitheater, encountering expressions that seemed to align fairly strongly with what he himself felt: stunned incredulity.

Then, tone filled with reluctant awe, Proconsul Neral whispered harshly, "What in the name of the nine hells of the seventh moon of _ch'Havran_ was _that_?"

Before Picard could answer, Ju-galrianmei stepped forward and bowed formally, mien serious. "The time has come," the Deltan said, "to talk of many things."

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Merak blinked, surprised at the sudden transfer. Quickly extending his senses, he sought to ascertain his location. Around him loomed the arena of reality, where the infinitesimal and the infinite vied with each other for power. Forcing his thoughts back to the lessons given him by his father, he realized that this must be the Hall that he had been warned so strenuously about.

Suddenly his thoughts brushed up against something old beyond time and empty beyond measure. Blackness reared up and swirled around him, eagerly sucking at his power and greedily draining his vitality. Deranged gibbering filled his head, completely breaking his concentration and drawing him deeper into their demesne.

_*yes this one good powerful confused will serve us well good food good servant will free us yes free us*_

His mind recoiled in terror, unprepared against the onslaught.

Abruptly a presence placed itself between Merak and the grasping darkness that sought to consume him. _No,_ it said firmly, as if speaking to slightly backward children.

The chittering swelled menacingly. *_promised you promised us those who came unprepared promised us when we lived when we died when we failed more we need more*_

The other voice responded, implacable, unwavering. _No._

The darkness shrieked its anger and battered against the barrier that the presence had constructed around Merak, but remained unable to break through to claim the tantalizing prize beyond. The shrieking rose in pitch and volume as the blackness screamed its frustration, then gradually faded into an impotent wail that disappeared into the realm of death from which it had come.

Merak shuddered, slowly gathering his wits about him. "What was that?" he asked the presence, then wondered if he would receive an answer.

The other seemed to hesitate, then suddenly solidified before him. An old human, beard reaching down to his knees, stood before him. Eyes ancient beyond years regarded him keenly. "The Heart of the Storm is all that remains of my lost children."

"Your children-?"

"Those beings you know as the Q Continuum," the other clarified. "To all of them, in their own time, is given a test." He made a gesture that seemed to encompass the Hall, the reality beyond the hall, and the darkness from which sprung the Heart of the Storm, in one subtle movement. "Not all of them succeed."

"I have never understood why you refuse to destroy them," a voice stated from Merak's left. At least, he thought it was his left. Suddenly it seemed to also be above him, below him, behind him, and directly in front of him. Everything was everywhere in this place, and he humbly realized how ill equipped he was to handle it.

Turning his attention to the 'voice', he found Viridian and Adara nearby (and simultaneously farther away than he could truly comprehend). Adara, eschewing her mortal form entirely, chose instead a nascent Q incarnation. Viridian, now only loosely adapting a humanoid form, glowed green, flickering through the various shades quicker than conscious perception.

The old man turned to face him. "There are many aspects of my decisions that you have never understood, my son. Yet I believe you are mistaken to claim perplexity. Look at these, your own children: would you willingly destroy them?"

Radiating uncertainty, his father retorted, "That is completely different, Father. My children have failed nothing."

"No?" the Eldest asked mildly. "I only now prevented your son from joining my other lost ones." Merak flushed in embarrassment, suddenly unwilling to meet Viridian's keen gaze. The Eldest chuckled softly. "Besides, my other children need their attention diverted somehow. Can you imagine what it would be like if your brethren had nothing to do but satisfy their curiosity about all of reality, rather than just this corner of it they so flippantly call the universe?"

Viridian didn't answer, though his being flickered red momentarily in response to the other's words.

Abruptly Q appeared, still in human form. "So nice of you to invite me," he said sarcastically.

The Eldest turned to him, mouth twitching. "Since when have I ever had to invite you anywhere?"

Q actually blushed, eliciting a moment of sympathy for him from Merak. Shaking off the unwelcome emotion, he turned to the Eldest. "Why did you bring us here, Grandfather?"

The Eldest blinked. "I suppose I am, aren't I?" A bemused look crossed his face. "No one's ever called me that before. I think I rather like it."

Viridian interjected, "Aren't we straying from the point?"

The Eldest exchanged a measured glance with his son. "Very well." He turned and scrutinized Adara, who calmly accepted this abrupt focus with equanimity. When the Eldest turned his gaze to Merak, however, he felt the uncertainty bubbling deep within. The Eldest sighed, then said, "We've brought you here to apologize."

Viridian began spluttering, "That's not why—" He stopped when the Eldest raised a peremptory hand.

"We manufactured the concept of their very existence to satisfy a curiosity, Viridian."

"And that was-?" Adara asked pointedly.

The Eldest again faced her. "The Continuum are my children – at least in the sense that they owe their existence to me. Your father is more directly my offspring, but the distinctions blur in explanation. It's a little complicated, but by nature of their longevity, most so-called 'immortals' are a result of an ancient error on my part."

Q blanched. "You mean we exist because of a _mistake_?" he asked, aghast.

The Eldest shrugged. "The laws of reality differed back then," he explained dismissively. Fixing his eyes on Adara, he explained, "Yet mortals, such as they are, evolved independently of my actions. I've always been curious of them, particularly their ability to learn so much in such a short period of time. I told my children to observe but not interfere in their development." He glared at Q. "Of course, there are exceptions to every rule."

Q managed to appear slightly embarrassed at the admonition. "Nothing was forbidden—" he began in protest.

The Eldest waved a hand. "No matter, Q. You, in your own way, are as much an experiment as Merak and Adara."

Blinking in surprise, Q said, "What?"

"Never mind," Viridian interrupted. "The point my father is laboriously trying to make is this: we wanted to find out what would happen if we mixed the characteristics of Continuum and mortal in one being."

"So I _wasn't_ the first one to realize the potential?" Q demanded incredulously.

The Eldest shot him an amused glance. "No."

Adara looked at Q with an eyebrow uplifted in query. Q actually _blushed_, backing away and muttering, "Ah, that's not important right now." He looked at Viridian, discomfiture fading. "There have been other…experimentations. The El Aurians—"

"True," replied Viridian, "but those other efforts involved willing and knowing participation on both sides with advanced mortal races already aware of our existence."

"Why Romulans?" asked Adara, gaze intense.

"Well…" Viridian began, then faltered.

The Eldest took over. "Their predilection towards insularity, their embrace of the more extreme of mortal passions – these among other reasons." He glanced at Viridian, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "And I am afraid that, for reasons incomprehensible to me, your father developed an – oh, what's that quaint word? – _infatuation_ and precipitated your conception sooner than I had anticipated. We had wanted to observe all of the major interplanetary races – humans, Romulans, Klingons, Vulcans, Cardassians, and the like - before settling on a final choice."

"I said I was sorry," Viridian muttered, his entire being a vibrant pink.

"You actually fell in _love_ with a mortal?" Q demanded disbelievingly.

_Open mouth, insert foot,_ Merak thought to himself as Adara abruptly assumed Romulan form and rounded on Q. "And what is wrong with mortals?" she said acerbically.

"Nothing," Q stammered, verbally backpedaling. "It's just that, uh, well…"

Taking pity on the immortal, Merak diverted the conversation. "If you wanted to find out what would happen, why didn't you take better care of us… and our mother?"

Now Viridian's gaze became flinty. "Cetus. He found out about out you and took steps."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Adara inquired, tone deceptively mild.

"To save your lives," the Eldest replied seriously. "The granting of the power of the Continuum to one outside of it is never undertaken lightly. Generally if such power is given to a mortal, it completely consumes the individual and immediately changes him into a member of the Continuum. The Assembly frowns upon those who do it, and many members of the Continuum are delighted to destroy such 'aberrations.'" He glanced at Q. "Our friend here has been known to tamper with the order of things from time to time, but even he never had the temerity to grant a mortal the full, unfettered powers of a Q for long."

He sighed. "We had deliberately granted you the full powers of the Q without forcing upon you the knowledge of the Continuum's ideals and duties, choosing instead to observe what happened. Considering Cetus' previous grudge against Viridian, he required little impetus to expand his hatred towards you. It took much subtle effort to prevent him from killing either of you outright. In the end, we only managed to divert his attempts, not prevent them entirely."

"I managed to save Merak's life on Khalan III by ensuring that a Federation vessel would arrive in time to save him," Viridian explained. "Unfortunately, Cetus succeeded in covertly persuading the Romulans to keep Adara in that prison and inspired her captors to create the device that chained her abilities. Had that collar not been used, she would have been able to escape long before she did, and Merak's powers would not have remained dormant." Viridian's color dimmed to a dull grey. "Your mother's decision to ignore my warning and her subsequent death affected me more deeply than I thought it would. My grief and guilt incapacitated me for a while."

"You did love her," Adara murmured.

Viridian nodded gravely.

A brief, awkward silence ensued. Clearing his throat hesitantly, Merak asked, "And your conclusions? About the experiment, I mean."

Smiling slightly, Viridian replied, "Quite unexpected. One of the more recent flaws of the Continuum is their tendency to eschew emotions from their outlook in favor of reliance upon their 'superior instincts'. The simple everyday emotions so treasured by mortals have become somehow distasteful to the Q, as if it were a throwback to the days before they attained their awesome abilities, a distraction from their contemplation of the eternal and infinite." He shook his head. "We can be quite pompous at times."

"I hadn't noticed," Adara said sarcastically. Merak hid a grin behind his hand.

Pointedly ignoring this interjection, he continued, "We arrived at an inescapable conclusion."

Merak turned to face the Eldest. "And that is?"

"That, in all truth, the mortal and immortal cannot mesh perfectly. The different sides constantly strive against each other for domination, with neither side capable of truly understanding or overcoming the other." He met Merak's eyes with piercing wisdom. "And yet somehow, in each of you, one side has indeed gained the victory – through free will."

"What do you mean?"

Adara turned to him, face inexpressibly sorrowful, and gently took his hand. "Our awakening forced us to choose, my other self."

Merak met her eyes. The touch had restored that link between them dulled by recent events, and again he felt the closeness they had shared since they had together become aware of the soft beat of their mother's heart. He remembered the joy of awareness and togetherness in their childhood, remembered the desolation and emptiness that had caused to him to deliberately forget those moments of happiness after their first separation, remembered the incredible power and _rightness_ of their reunion in her dream before her freedom began once more.

Suddenly, he saw two figures before him. One was Adara of Romulus, his beloved sister, and in the instant that he saw this, he saw their life together, and, many decades hence, their death together, leaving behind a strong and unified Star Empire. The other was Adara of the Continuum, a being of inscrutable power and unknowable purpose, the dreadful weight of the universe on her shoulders as she succeeded the Eldest in his eternal quest to right the wrongs of his past, alone, unloved, and unsupported. Yet, far beyond that, his Q abilities revealed the wrongs righted, reality again restored to what should always have been, and a love that far surpassed any mortal appreciation of the word.

He shuddered from that eternal struggle. "I don't want to lose you again," he whispered to her.

She wept silently, with no tears, the link between them vibrating with the sorrow of her decision. "I will never forget you."

"But…" he said, starting to explain his vision. Her hand twitched in his, and he knew that she, also, had seen it. "You knew. You knew on the _Enterprise_ when—" He stopped, glanced at Q, then back at his sister. He bowed his head. "I cannot desert my people now."

Abruptly hands gently clasped their shoulders. They turned simultaneously to find Viridian standing beside them, compassion in his abruptly Romulan eyes. "You have chosen well, my children." He looked directly at Adara. "Your strength never lay in the frailty of your body but the resiliency of your soul, and that strength is desperately needed." Transferring his eyes to Merak, he continued, "And your sense of duty understands that _we_ cannot succeed in our task without the wisdom and resolve of those gifted with an ability to escape, in death, from the consequences of their choices." His expression saddened. "I wish that your mother had lived to take you back."

Merak only nodded numbly in response as Adara bowed her head.

And then the Eldest was also besides them. "Now, as equals, say farewell."

Without conscious effort, Merak found his arms around Adara, savoring her nearness, her beauty, her strength. Between them flowed emotions and impressions unfettered by language or logic, the link in their minds afire with the purity of their love for each other.

The moment became eternity, complete and perfect in every aspect.

Then something within him _shifted_, altering him in some indefinable manner that signaled louder than words that he was indeed mortal. The awareness which moments before had been able to discern the details of solar systems one hundred parsecs distant vanished, leaving only the mundane senses of sight, touch, hearing, smell, and taste, and the more undeveloped sixth sense, to guide him through reality. Opening his eyes, he drew back from the embrace and looked at Adara.

Shock coursed through his body: before him stood a figure that in no way resembled a Romulan. Instead, the Adara of his vision regarded him, gaze opaque, bodily outline pulsating slightly.

"_A'rhea,"_ he whispered brokenly, acutely aware of the void within.

"My soul," she replied in a hushed tone of voice. Suddenly she was flesh again, though no Romulan features manifested.

Merak drew himself up. "Do not forget me," he asked plaintively.

She smiled wistfully. _"Aoi'hlan."_

He nodded. Turning to Viridian, he said, "I am ready."

The powerful being scrutinized him for a moment, then nodded. "Farewell, Merak of Romulus."

And, for the last time in his life he was surrounded by the strange melding of color and sound as the place between places enveloped him and took him elsewhere.

Abruptly he stood in his aunt's private quarters in the Citadel on Romulus. Dully he looked around, adjusting to the crushing mundanity of his vision and senses, surprised at the ache aroused within him as he realized that he would never taste sounds or hear colors again.

A gasp came from behind him. Whirling, he found Sienae and Serlin behind him, their conversation interrupted by his appearance. His aunt, silver circlet of betrothal glinting on her brow, noticed the anguish on his face. Immediately she stood and rushed to his side. "What has happened?"

Merak couldn't answer. A single tear formed and fell, inviting others to join it. Eyes suddenly flooded with tears, he slowly shook his head and walked out of the room. Behind him he heard Serlin's voice: "Leave him be. Some grief cannot be shared."

Arriving at his sleeping quarters, Merak mechanically entered the room and locked the door behind him. Every movement studied and precise, he sat upon his bed and stared at the wall, mind blank.

Then, as the emptiness within him shrieked its loneliness, he curled into a fetal position and wept.

After a few moments, the lock on his door clicked. Struggling into an upright position, he barely managed to wipe away the tears before a figure entered the room.

Viktris, hair disheveled from her earlier activity, cheeks marked with her own tears, regarded him for a moment, then bowed slightly. "My lord Merak."

Merak swallowed harshly. "I do not require your presence," he said, attempting to sound calm.

Shaking her head, she silently took a place next to him on the bed and waited, gazing at him expectantly.

Eventually his closed his eyes and bowed his head. Tears squeezed themselves through his eyelids as he asked, "I'll never see her again, will I?"

An arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. "No, my lord."

A sob shook his body. Then, with self-control gleaned from balancing the forces of the universe in the palm of his hand, Merak met her gaze. Gently tracing the line of her tears with a shaking finger, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She smiled slightly. "Jurak chose his own path, my lord, as did I. Is that not what your father said? The freedom of choice, the time to forget, the escape of death – these are the gifts of mortals."

He snarled. "Some gifts!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer the monotony of destiny with no escape from the guilt of your mistakes? Your father will always feel your mother's blood on his conscious, and your sister will always wonder whether she should have joined your path." Merak looked at her, startled at her insight. "It is your choice to aid the Empire from destroying itself, my lord, and her inescapable duty to follow her fate. You retain the option to change your choice. She cannot escape hers."

A sneaking suspicion stole over him at that point. "Who—"

She shrugged. "Your sister sent me. She wishes you happiness, not sorrow. Grieve her loss, but do not regret your choice."

The acerbic words had the effect of a slap to calm his hysterics. Once again his former resolve settled in his very bones. "The Star Empire needs me."

She nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Well, then," he said, rising to his feet and adjusting his clothing. "We don't want to disappoint, do we?" Bracing his shoulders against avenging time, he commanded succinctly, "Come."

Obediently she followed, as she would for the remainder of her life.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_Mnhei'sahe - _translates loosely to "the ruling passion," centers around a strong respect and appreciation of honor, duty, courtesy and strength. The motivation of all Romulan behavior

_ch'Havran _ - Remus

_A'rhea_ – dear heart

_Aoi'hlan_ - never


	22. Elsewhere 9

Adara stared at the space recently vacated by her brother. Peripherally she sensed her father's concern and the Eldest's unspoken pity. Deep within her she still felt Merak and his overwhelming despair. Yet she knew that despite her own echoed pain, the sweetness of that last remaining link prevented her from dismissing it. Unwilling to abandon him completely, she assumed a Romulan form. She realized, with a trace of sadness, that the physical change, so momentous before, simply proved a slight wrinkle in the rapidly shifting alteration to which she had acquiesced.

Contemplating her recent metamorphosis, she again looked within and studied the extent of the change, still surprised at the number and magnitude of the alterations. The statements made by the others concerning the impossibility of an effective fusion between mortal and immortal proved accurate, for the difference between what she had been and what she had become proved greater than her calculations before her transformation. The closer she scrutinized the self before and after her departure from the mortal coil, the more striking and irreconcilable the divergence between the two states of existence.

"You were right," she said, in answer to the Eldest's unspoken inquiry. "The two cannot exist together."

"Indeed," the Eldest murmured, resuming his silence.

She turned to her father. "And what now?"

He shrugged minutely. "Do as you wish. I claim no hold over you."

"Good." Again she examined herself. Then, fighting a sudden bout of anxiety, she turned and met Q's gaze. Wordlessly, she challenged him as only a Q could challenge an equal.

He stared at her, a peculiar mixture of admiration and caution on his features. "Who are you?"

"Adara," she answered simply.

He approached her, demeanor questioning. "What are you?"

She hesitated. "I don't know."

Slowly he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. A tremor shook his body as unaccustomed passion swept through it. Then, as if he were handling the most delicate of gossamer filigree, he took her into arms and searched her face, gaze questioning.

Silently she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a kiss.

Indescribable sensations surged through her as their lips met and she reacted, both physically and psychically, to that exquisite moment of contact. His grip around her tightened as he drew her closer, eliciting a corresponding rush of emotions that moved through him almost palpably. Soon she felt as if they had truly been joined, body and soul, to each other and that the eternity of their visions had begun now, in this instant of transcendent joy, and would never be broken until the universe crumpled in upon itself and began again.

Yet, even as she reveled in the moment, she sensed that something rang false, a subtle instinct that prompted her to break away from the kiss and his embrace, leaning back slightly to regard him with a piercing gaze. Sensitized by the abrupt sagacity conferred by her recent metamorphosis, she extended her senses towards him and waited expectantly.

Aware of the subtle tension, he asked quietly, "What is it?"

A slight smile touched her lips. "Well, for one thing, you _are_ married."

He flushed slightly before remembering what he was. "You bring that up _now?_" he asked incredulously. "Besides, that was a means to an end. I mean, we had a thing for a few billion years, but nothing like—"

She put a single finger on his lips, silencing him. Face serious, she continued, "You are a father. You have—"

"_Responsibilities_, yes, I know," he groaned, removing her finger gently. "Yet this…whatever it is that is between us…" He ran a hand through his hair in unconscious exasperation. "I _cannot_ fulfill my responsibilities with _that_ consuming my thoughts." He reached toward her, tone almost pleading. "I _need_ to know what is going on here."

She nodded her head in acceptance of his statement. "We explored the unknown together before," she reminded him gently.

A reluctant smile appeared. "Yes." Extending the tendrils of his own awareness, he gripped her hands. Adara could feel them trembling slightly, indication of his immersion in his mortal form.

And, slowly, their souls meshed.

Responding to their intent, the Hall reshaped itself. Again she felt herself lifted upon the winds of time and the surf of space. Stars raced through their stationery paths, comets cavorted cheerfully to their deaths and rebirths, mortal civilizations came in and out of existence in the space of a heartbeat.

_If she had possessed a heart…_

Shaking herself from the sudden melancholy that gripped her, she lulled her thoughts even as she strove to maintain control of her emotions. Eternity danced in endless grace around her, gently soothing the terror that had almost succeeded in blinding her to the mysterious realms of transcendent beauty. Gazing across the nonexistent gulf of reality, she strove to locate Q among the barely controlled order of the chaotic surroundings. An area of warmth passed near her, compelling her to turn towards its source.

She relaxed minutely as she perceived Q. Both of them yet remained in their mortal forms, despite their obvious inadequacy to survive their current environment. Smiling warmly, she moved into his arms. A sudden feeling of _déjà vu_ swept over her.

Meeting his gaze, she sensed in him a wonderment that matched her own as her hand, unable to abort the tide of destiny sweeping over them, gently traced the line of his cheek. His bottomless eyes regarded her lovingly, stars stirring in their depths. He raised his own hand, caressed the smooth line of her brow, and cupped her chin in his hand. "Stay with me forever," he whispered, leaning forward.

Letting her lips brush against his tantalizingly, she answered fervently, "Forever, my love." And, as their mouths met in unmitigated passion, his arms wrapped themselves around her and promised that nothing would ever harm her again.

And yet…

Again breaking the contact, she leaned back. For some reason, the beauty that had passed between them remained slightly marred, or, more accurately, subtly disjointed. Around them, the reality created by the power of their emotions faltered, surprised at the doubt that suddenly infused it. "It's not…complete," she confessed, surprised at her own reticence. "And yet I cannot name the malaise."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly placed her finger lightly on his lips. "Wait," she commanded urgently. "I must think on this." Deliberately pulling herself from his embrace, she stepped back and forced herself to observe him objectively. The sense of his _presence_ flowed into her and through her, filling the void deep within. Even as she had placed her own soul before his scrutiny, he allowed her awareness to analyze every detail of his past.

All his imperfections abruptly came into glaring focus. The arrogance, the impatience, the blatant predilection to assert his own superiority before all others, the deliberate callousness towards those less fortunate than he, the quick temper, the sardonic cynicism: all served to condemn him. Yet she also detected and acknowledged the beauty of his being. The lingering awe of those mysteries of reality which yet remained; the enduring serenity and splendor of his creations; the potent grief at his involvement in the death of his young pupil Trelane and his one-time friend Quinn; and, most recently, the nascent ardor towards her that increasingly compelled his attention. She held all this before her mind and studied it.

And she still loved him. That much was undeniable – the desire that suffused her brooked no denial of that particular passion. Slowly, almost ruthlessly, she forced herself to dissect what had occurred between them, analyzing every word, every glance, desperately hoping to expose the cause of her uncertainty so that she could abolish it entirely and attain the perfection of love that hung so tantalizingly at the edge of her perception.

Then, with the inevitability of life itself, comprehension swept through her.

"It's not you," she murmured wonderingly. "It's me." Answering the bemusement on his face, she continued, struggling to voice what she herself understood only through instinct. "It would be so easy for me to join with you, for now and forever." His face brightened at the prospect. Holding up a hand to still his burgeoning approval of the idea, she said, "Wait. Listen. I know so little of what I am, what I need…" She held his gaze with her own. Abandoning her mortal form, she assumed her full Q embodiment for the first time. A startled look passed over his face as he realized the full extent of her power. She felt his withdrawal, inwardly wept as he retreated from her potency. "Don't you see? You wish to be my protector, the one to right all wrongs."

"Are you saying that I am incapable?" Q asked in a slightly detached manner, already beginning to push his emotions away.

Shaking her celestial head sadly, she said, "No, Q. I sense in you a potential to be as great as I. Yet if you were to assume the role of guardian, it would negate the very reason for our union."

"How?" he asked, voice neutral.

She countered with an inquiry of her own. "Do you love me?"

"I—" he began. A slight puzzlement crossed his face. "I think so."

"Hardly a testimony of undying passion," she said, ignoring the sharp stab of hurt within.

Hesitantly he approached her. "You fascinate me," he said, in the manner of one pondering aloud. "Your beauty, your grace…" He appraised her slowly. "Your power," he admitted. "You lack nothing I would wish for in a partner, and possess far more than I ever dared envision." He opened his mouth again, but paused.

"But?" she prompted him, severing the strained stillness.

A speculative expression passed over his face. "Will you resume your other form?"

With a mental twist, she returned to her Romulan incarnation.

Q reached out and slowly moved his fingers in a slow circle that caressed her jaw line and neck, bringing his hands to rest on her shoulders. Slowly, lightly, he brushed his lips against hers. The shock of delight blazed through her body once more. "My lady," he whispered fervently, "I do love you." Then, slowly, his hands dropped away. "But I am not ready to be with you." A sad smile claimed his lips. "I have _responsibilities_ I must attend to."

Forcing herself to remain impassive, she said, "Do you with to begin with a lie? Or with responsibilities spurned and unfulfilled?"

"No." A brittle, subtle anguish rippled through his being. "But someday…"

"Yes," she murmured forcefully. "We will have all the time, someday."

He nodded, willing to endure the wait. After all, time remained a commodity of infinite breadth for them.

A grin tugged at his lips as he gathered his power about him. "Shall we meet again?"

Smiling in response, eyes filled with unshed tears, she said, "Was there ever a doubt?"

Raising his hand to his forehead, he gave a mock salute. Then, bowing, he disappeared.

Aware of his departure, the Hall returned to its prior configuration. Gaze wandering over the endless expanse, she stayed silent for a long moment, then turned and confronted her father's gaze. "Well?"

"It had to be done," he agreed.

"Yes," she responded, eyes distant. Then she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I suppose it did." She glanced at the Eldest, still silent. "And now, grandfather? Am I capable of the task my father cannot comprehend?"

While Viridian spluttered, the Eldest nodded sagely. "The very fact that you are able to perceive the need bespeaks your suitability."

"Only the mortal have the ability to understand the problem, and only the immortal possess the facility to affect the solution." Her eyes narrowed. "You manipulated Father into this so-called experiment for one purpose alone: to conceive your heir upon a mortal."

"WHAT?" Viridian demanded, looking at his father. "But you said—"

The Eldest waved his hand. "It was necessary, my son." He glanced at his offspring. "Did you never wonder why your Romulan lady had twins so convenient to our supposed purpose?" He looked into the distance. "And now I have one to mend the errors I wove into the fabric of reality, and another to father a line of mortals who, deep within, will remember the song of universe." He looked at Adara. "I require your absolute concentration."

"You shall have it." She glanced at the immensity around them and shivered. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They vanished, leaving only the dissipated echoes of their voices.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

In a far distant nebula, Q materialized. A quick glance assured him that nothing had changed significantly since his prior departure. _Well, I suppose that means Junior hasn't been doing too badly,_ he mused flippantly. Absentmindedly calming the incessant howling of the wind, Q relaxed into the movement of the nebula where he had first learned to quell the insistent demand of his abilities to reshape all of existence to what he deemed suitable, and relegated himself to the duties of the Continuum. His eyes lazily traced the swirls of the clouds, seeking the dispassionate serenity that before had been his for the taking, along with whatever else he had deigned to desire.

Reaching out, he located his wife and child, and went to them.

Susie welcomed his entrance without surprise. "I felt you return," she murmured. "Will you be leaving again anytime soon?"

Q regarded her closely, seeing her almost as a new being. "No. I thought maybe you could use some help with Junior."

_Now_ surprise flickered through her. "He is progressing well, as I told you." She hesitantly reached out to touch him, as if noticing for the first time the change in him. Caressing his cheek, she smiled. "I would gladly accept your presence here. You know how Junior dotes on you."

Q laughed and gestured in self-deprecation. "I'm sure _that_ will go away when he gets to know me better."

Cocking her head, Susie regarded him, smiling mysteriously. "I'm sure," she murmured.

"Father!" A young boy that in mortal terms would have looked around ten suddenly popped into existence in front of Q. "Are you here to stay?"

Picking up the boy, Q looked him in the eyes and smiled. "Yes." _I am here to stay… for a while._


	23. Chapter 14

Riker examined the painting on the wall of the palace waiting room, struggling to work past the alien nature of the Romulan colors and style into the underlying significance. He had been staring at the artwork while he waited, analyzing without much noticeable success. Every time he thought he was finally beginning to understand it something distracted his contemplation and scattered his thoughts. Yet, either because of inherent tenacity or acquired art appreciation (or, he privately admitted, complete and utter boredom), he grimly returned his attention to the abstract composition and bent his mind to understanding it.

Behind him a door hissed open. Relieved at the break, Riker turned to see who had entered the room.

"Will," Killian greeted him, expression neutral. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

Riker grinned. "No, of course not." Gesturing to a chair, he claimed one himself as he continued, "Glad you finally made it."

Killian grimaced, an almost indiscernible tightening of muscles around his mouth. "The discussion took longer than I anticipated," he said.

"What's their decision?"

"The Ambassadors have decided to remain on Romulus and begin the talks immediately. Apparently certain details of the events that took place during the trial made quite an impression upon the Romulans, and Ju-galrianmei has decided to use that to the Federation's advantage." He settled back into the depths of his chair. "Merak, once he finally showed up again, offered to join the Federation delegation. Considering the awe with which the other Romulans are treating him, that could _definitely_ work to our advantage. Ambassador Johnson and the first batch of released UFP prisoners will be going back with you on the _Enterprise_. He'll report to the President and arrange another ship to pick up the final fruits of the negotiations later."

"Aren't you coming with us?"

Killian shook his head. "Trenata intimated that the Romulans won't dare employ government-sanctioned force to remove the prisoners from our care, and I have every confidence in our abilities to fend off any clandestine attempts to relieve them."

"What about-" Riker began, then paused. "Will Nekron's death harm the Federation position?"

A shadow crossed over his cousin's face. "I don't think so. He's being hailed as a martyr on Romulus, one of the few to recognize Corikh's depravity before anyone else, and already it has been decided that his name will be added to the list of those who died to save the Empire. There's even talk of establishing House Nekron."

Riker raised an eyebrow. "That's quite an honor."

"Well, as Corikh's trial progresses, public sympathy towards his enemies and victims increases daily. I'm sure that by the time it's over they'll be calling for his blood many times over."

Speculation lit Riker's eyes. "I wonder how Adara's judgment will affect his sentence?"

Killian grinned. "One idiot Senator with misplaced loyalty suggested that Corikh merely be exiled to Saatilvik and left to his own devices. Merak merely looked at him and invited him to discuss the matter with his sister. The Senator's tune changed rather quickly after that."

"Let's hope justice is well and truly served," Riker said darkly. "That animal deserves the worst punishment the Empire can conceive."

"Which reminds me, what is the status of Lieutenant Beckett?"

"Improving by the hour, according to sick bay. He's taking to the skin grafts well." He frowned, remembering of the previously sly-witted Lieutenant. "Deanna is less certain about his mental progress, though. His emotional trauma is great, and he's having trouble sleeping because of nightmares." Sighing, Riker rubbed his eyes. "Only time will tell whether he'll fully recover."

Abruptly he felt pressure on his shoulder. Glancing up, he met Killian's gaze. The intensity of it burned, and Riker realized just how deeply his cousin valued the lives under his command. "Believe me, Will: if there had been any other way, I would have taken it." He resumed his seat, voice assuming an oddly gently tone. "Still, Beckett's fairly resilient. He'll wake up screaming for many nights to come, perhaps, and I'm afraid his aversion to transporters will continue for months, after his body and mind have healed. But he'll cope."

Regarding his cousin cynically, Riker said, "How can you be so sure?"

The other leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of him. "You are Commander of the _Enterprise_, Will, first officer of the finest vessel in Starfleet. You have traveled to more planets and witnessed more aspects of the variegated UFP cultures than most diplomats, and have been forced to make decisions that I'm sure caused quite a few moral qualms in the depths of your soul. Yet despite all of that, you remain surprisingly naïve about the extraordinary stamina of the ordinary man." Gaze sharp, Killian concluded, "I have taken the measure of my men countless times. Trust me. Beckett will recover, and eventually return to the ranks of the Elite."

Obscurely mollified, Riker nodded. Then a thought occurred to him. "And Lieutenant Birge?"

Killian grinned. "As before: she is quite firm in her desire to become the first woman to serve in Elite ranks. I have already given her a letter of sponsorship. I'm afraid I've poached an officer from you, Will."

Riker waved his hand. "Better poached than lost. How long before you return to Federation territory?"

"Even after the matter of the hostage transfer is decided and our prisoners of war are returned to our care, the Ambassadors will remain at the Embassy and work on producing treaties and the like." Killian smiled slightly. "Actually, I think that they just want to stay on Romulus until Ambassador Spock returns from his unofficial tour of the Empire. As well, it is painfully obvious that Neral will be granted the title of Praetor sooner rather than later, and I _know_ Ju-galrianmei wishes to keep a close eye on _that_ one." Shrugging, he continued, "However, considering the pathetic condition of the Embassy, I consider it highly unlikely that they will be safe from assassination attempts. I've already offered the services of the Elite to protect them indefinitely." His face grew still. "Besides, my instinct tells me that young Merak's saga isn't quite finished."

"So you have no return date?"

The Elite Commander shrugged minutely. "Until the Romulans agree to permanent peace or the Ferengi collectively take a vow of poverty. Take your pick."

Riker grinned. "Despite the Federation's strengthened legitimacy on Romulus, I still rather tend to believe that the latter will occur first."

"We'll see," Killian murmured. Then his face saddened. "I do have a personal communiqué from Ambassador Trenata to a member of your crew."

Abruptly sober, Riker stated, "Data?"

The other indicated agreement and held out a piece of old-fashioned paper. "She requested Commander LaForge give it to him."

"Good choice," Riker mused. "Especially if it says what I think it says."

"They made a good couple, though," Killian mused.

He thought about it. "Yes."

Rising from the chair, Killian said, "Well, I'd best be going. You'll be returning to the _Enterprise_ shortly?" At Riker's nod, Killian gave an obscure smile and said, "Give Deanna my regards for winning the bet for you." Without further explanation, he pivoted and strode from the room, his entire bearing arrogant beyond measure.

Startled at that last rejoinder, Riker struggled to decipher his cousin's cryptic remark. Then, as the memories of their childhood time together resurfaced, he burst into a hearty laugh. "Good for her," he remarked to no one in particular. Regaining control, he firmly grasped the paper in his hand and tapped his communicator. "Riker to _Enterprise_. One to beam up."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Guinan glanced around the room. "There," she told the porter, indicating the spot by the bed. Obediently Brent lowered the Romulan sculpture into position. Considering the effect, Guinan finally smiled. "Perfect. Thank you, Lieutenant."

He straightened, then rubbed his back and groaned theatrically. "It was my pleasure. Do you need anything else?"

She glanced around her new quarters. "No, thank you, Mr. Brent. It was kind enough for you to help me in the first place."

He shrugged, deliberately downplaying his effort. "I had some stuff I had to pick up anyway, and then everyone else wanted me to get _their_ stuff – you know how it is." She nodded. He shot her an odd look, then said, "Oh, and call me Max."

Touched, Guinan smiled. "Thank you, Max."

The Elite straightened. "Well, much as I hate to deprive myself of your presence, Lady, I must be about my duties. Farewell." Without waiting for a response, he bowed smoothly and strode jauntily from the room.

Guinan stared at the door, bemusement permeating her disposition. _I wonder what brought_ that _on?_ she thought, then mentally shrugged and moved about her quarters. Upon learning her identity, the Romulan government had offered her any number of amenities and gifts, the sculpture being but one of them. Apparently El Aurians had quite a reputation within the Star Empire, and descriptions of her actions in defense of Adara had instantly elevated her to the role of protector of the innocent. Ju-galrianmei had subtly urged her not to dissuade them from the belief, so Guinan had merely smiled mysteriously and remained silent before their tentative questions about the precise capabilities of Adara and Merak.

So now Romulan candles and silk liberally decorated her bedchamber, and a Romulan meditation statue occupied the space by her bed.

Focusing her attention on the sculpture, she settled herself onto the bed and stared at it. It was fascinating work of art, composed not of the smooth lines and formless amorphism of her previous sculpture but instead with the harsh angles and abrupt demarcations of a race accustomed to chaos and conflict. After a few minutes, she realized that although she could appreciate it as a magnificent representation of the artistic abilities of the Romulan culture, the sheer alienness of it would never be conducive to true meditation.

The insight saddened her. Somehow, she would have to find a true El Aurian piece, even though the chances of her being able to actually locate one were vanishingly small.

In a pensive mood, she wandered into the main room and sagged into the sofa across from her observation window. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples to ease the dull throbbing that had been subtly invading her awareness for the past few minutes. A strange sensation moved over her skin, driving her to stand up in an attempt to alleviate her discomfort. Looking at her forearms in astonishment, she watched her hair slowly rise and stand on end.

Abruptly she realized that she was not alone.

"Hello, Guinan," a voice said from behind her. Swiveling swiftly, she found herself confronted with one of the most potent members of the Q Continuum she had yet encountered, aura scintillating with multiple galaxies.

"Greetings, Q," she replied formally. "How may I help you?"

The other regarded her for a moment, chuckling softly. Abruptly it shimmered and contracted, and Guinan found herself facing Adara. "It's me, Guinan. Only me."

Guinan scrutinized her, astonishment evaporating. "No, Adara. I don't think you're 'only' anything anymore." She raised her gaze to Adara's face. "What happened?"

Adara sighed heavily. "I am Q. Merak is Romulan. It's as simple as that."

"Ah," Guinan murmured, exploring the implications of the remark. "By choice?"

"Yes."

Guinan chose silence for a moment before inquiring, "Why are you here?"

"Why, to thank you." Cocking her head speculatively, Adara's eyes grew distant in thought. "I never would have survived the past few days without your aid."

Gesturing minutely, Guinan said, "The duty of _sabvasa_ requires no thanks given."

"It is not the duty of _sabvasa_ to which I owe my emotional well-being, Guinan," the other replied, eyes gentle in their effulgence. "It is that for which I came to express my gratitude."

Regarding the other woman calmly, Guinan replied, "Your need was strong."

"Nevertheless," Adara insisted, "I thank you." Her lips twitched with hidden humor. "And now I think I've mortified you enough. Would you object if I visited you occasionally?"

Guinan smiled. "I would be honored."

Satisfied, Adara nodded and said, "Good." Abruptly her tone became quite formal. "Farewell, _sabvas_."

"Farewell, _sabvasan_."

Expression content, Adara shimmered and vanished.

And, located exactly where she had been standing, stood the El Aurian mediation statue that had so long ago been lovingly sculpted from the living rock of El Aur by the greatest artist of a disappearing race. Guinan felt tears come to her eyes as she approached the sculpture and placed trembling hands upon its reassuringly solid surface. A great peace soothed her mind at the touch.

"Thank you, Adara," she whispered.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"And that is the Ambassador's final decision?"

Johnson nodded. "Apparently Ju-galrianmei's goal in life is to effect as many diplomatic miracles as possible before being assassinated."

"Ambassador," Picard said, tone reproving.

Unrepentant, Johnson smirked impishly. "Sorry. I've often been told that I'm too morbid for my own good."

Picard fought the temptation to smile in response, concealing his mirth behind a swift sip of Earl Grey. "And Neral's reaction to Merak replacing you on the diplomatic team?"

The little man's grin turned positively vicious. "About the same as if Sho Ka Ree herself came down and told him to get his act straight. I swear, Trenata's positively gloating over the advantage the Empire's general attitude towards Merak is giving us."

"His sister's display at the trial, not to mention his own efforts, made quite an impression upon the collective mind of Romulus," Picard reminded him.

The irascible man shrugged. "I watched the whole thing in a tiny little room ten miles away from the action. Her abilities – and the appearance of good ol' granddad – didn't have as big an impact on me as you lucky ones who were actually there." He quirked an eyebrow. "Of course, after your multifarious dealings with omnipotent beings, I'm surprised to find you in awe at all."

"One never becomes accustomed to the impossible, Ambassador, no matter the rationale behind it. I am not so comfortable with miracles that I can shrug them off as inconsequential. Besides," he added as he picked up his teacup and held it in front of his face, "I've often found that complacency leads to bad habits."

"A typically Starfleet response, Captain," Johnson said. "Are you one of those tiresome fellows that believes humanity incapable of achieving the infinite?"

Picard paused, seriously considering the little man's flippant remark. "Incapable? No. Unwilling, rather, to sacrifice what is necessary to accomplish that goal."

Eyes lighting up, Johnson said, "What do you say to long, extended discussions on the issue during the voyage to McKinley, Captain?"

Picard smiled. "Consider myself at your service." He sipped his tea and replaced the cup on the saucer.

"Done, then." Then the Ambassador's habitually volatile face stilled. "What are you going to tell Admiral Baygard?"

Frowning slightly, Picard admitted, "I'm not sure." A twinkle of mischief entered his gaze. "But then, _we'll_ have plenty of time to figure that out before we arrive at our destination, won't we, Ambassador Johnson?"

The other man winced. "You're a cruel, cruel man, Captain. I was hoping to avoid that confrontation altogether."

"You would have had to include an explanation in your report anyway." Taking a small measure of pity on the suffering man, Picard said, "Merak's own account of events will aid us to some extent."

"True, Captain," the man said, brightening slightly. Then he deflated again. "She's not going to be happy, is she?"

Picard shrugged minutely. "She's surprised me before." He paused, considering what he had just said. "Repeatedly, in fact."

The man sighed, then stood purposefully. "I guess I'd better start working on that report, then." He bowed slightly. "Until later, Captain, my Captain." Turning smartly on his heels, he retreated from the room.

Smiling at the erratic Ambassador's reference, Picard settled the still-warm cup into his grip and settled back in his chair. Inhaling the fragrant steam rising from the tea, he closed his eyes and slowly relaxed.

Suddenly a cool breeze washed over his body as the sound of waves permeated the air around him. Startled, he quickly looked around, amazed to find himself, chair, desk, and all, on a remote windswept seashore. Barely stifling an exclamation, he leapt to his feet, tea forgotten.

"Greetings, Captain," a female voice said behind him. Whirling, he found Adara behind him and relaxed.

"I would have appreciated a warning," he said, tone mildly reproachful.

She shrugged. "I deemed any warning in itself insufficient as a warning for my arrival."

"Your kind do possess an affinity for abrupt comings and goings," he admitted. Curiously he glanced around. "May I ask the reason for this locale?"

Signaling him to join her in a walk along the shore, she said, "Well, you promised to show me a beach with your holodeck one day, did you not?"

Abruptly he remembered the conversation from what seemed an eternity before. "I must admit that I had forgotten that promise," he confessed ruefully.

"Understandable. The past few days have been...hectic." Her gaze traveled across the restless waves of the ocean. "You were right, though. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Picard slowed his walk and stopped as she halted. "I have always appreciated the beauty of oceans. Sometimes…"

"Yes, Captain?"

Sighing, he replied, "Nothing. An idle fantasy." Yet his mind recalled the holodeck simulation of a naval ship of old Earth he had constructed the day Worf's promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander was officially recognized. He shuddered as he recalled that day, the day the maniacal Soran had initiated his desperate attempt to force the energy ribbon of the Nexus, and the thus fulfillment of his own fantasies, to the desired location.

The day he had first learned of the fiery death of his brother and beloved nephew.

Inhaling deeply, Picard strove to remain calm even as the barrage of memories assaulted him. He remembered René's smile, his curiosity, his burning desire to learn as much as humanly possible. He closed his eyes momentarily, pushing the emotions away.

Suddenly something nudged his foot. Glancing down, he saw that the tide had brought a beautiful conch to rest by his shoe. Without conscious effort, Picard found himself leaning over and retrieving the seashell. Slowly he turned it around in his hands.

Sensing his abrupt change of mood, Adara murmured, "That shell means something."

Picard glanced up at her, met her steady, compassionate gaze. "Yes."

Her silence demanded more.

He signed, fingers tracing the spiral lines of the object in his hands. "My nephew – René – loved the sea. He…" Pausing, Picard moved his gaze to the horizon, scrutinizing the random sparkles of the water beneath the warm sun. "One of our times together before…before he died was a trip to the sea when he was six." The words began to come more easily. "The first hour there he found a shell much like this one and brought it to me." He smiled, ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes as he resumed his scrutiny of the shell. "He was so proud of his little discovery. Of course, he wanted to know more about it so I told him to hold it to his ear and listen to his secrets. He asked me what the shell was whispering to him." A scar on the shell tickled his fingertips. "_The song of the sea,_ I told him," he murmured. "The song of the sea."

Her eyes, deep and compelling, regarded him. "It still calls you, doesn't it?"

Picard met her gaze again. "Yes." Then, mentally shaking himself, he dropped the shell onto the waiting sand and straightened his back. "I suppose it does."

Her mysterious eyes regarded him for a time before she gestured towards to the desk. "Come, Captain." Silently they turned and gradually made their way back to the egregiously inappropriate furniture waiting forlornly on the wet sand. When they reached it, Adara turned to Picard. "I wanted to thank you for defending me."

"I did nothing," Picard said. "Guinan and Q—"

"Yes," she interrupted, an obscure pain crossing her face. "But you were the one who almost had to pay the price for that protection." He nodded in acknowledgment of her words. "If there is anything I can do for you…"

The crash of the surf that filled the silence reminded him acutely of the abilities of the woman next to him. Memories mingled with hopes flickered through his mind – of his visit to the Nexus, all his dreams fulfilled; the Borg forever barred from the Federation; the War with the Dominion ended with victory to the Alliance; his brother and nephew, once again among the living. He opened his mouth, ready to demand the impossible, then paused. _Is my happiness worth the desecration of the truth?_

Clamping his mouth shut, he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Very well," Adara said. Picard wondered just how much of his inner turmoil she had perceived. Perhaps all, perhaps none. Her face remained smooth of emotions regardless. "Good-bye, Captain, and fare you well."

Abruptly he was back in his ready room, standing in front of his desk. A tantalizing miasma of sea brine filled the air, refusing to allow Picard to dismiss what had just occurred.

Abruptly the door chimed. Automatically tugging the hem of his uniform, Picard said, "Come."

Riker came into the room. "Ready for departure, sir."

"Excellent, Number One," Picard said. Retrieving his Earl Grey, he took the cup to the replicator for disposal. When he met Riker's gaze again, he found puzzlement on the other's face. Following his first officer's line of sight, he found the subject of Riker's scrutiny: a beautiful conch shell sitting on the edge of his desk. He hesitated, uncertain of how to explain its presence. "A gift," he said at last. A covert glance at his shoes revealed a liberal coating of damp sand. A smile touched his lips.

"Ah," Riker said, expression still baffled. "I see."

Standing, Picard surreptitiously attempted to shake the dust of that unknown world from his feet. "Let us proceed."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The music filled the room, exquisitely perfect, preternaturally beautiful. The soaring notes of the two instruments intertwined flawlessly, producing an effect that many would have considered the consummation of humanity's love affair with carved wood and tense string. Two figures swayed in the center of the music, eyes closed, rapture evident on their faces as they combined their efforts to create something more pure, more true than either could hope to accomplish on their own. Their skins, tinged different shades of green, rippled as the muscles beneath moved towards increasingly heroic effects. Finally, the dizzying finale came, an ever-increasing crescendo of sound and emotion, until finally they climaxed and struck a resounding union. All motion in the figures stopped as they savored the reverberations around them.

Then, slowly, the bows were removed from the violins and lowered. The two figures straightened from the intense crouch and opened their eyes. Across the room their gaze met. The woman smiled mysteriously, sensuously, inviting the other with the warmth of her smile.

Lieutenant Commander Data watched the woman across from him, face neutral, then tore his gaze away. "Computer, terminate and delete program."

Obligingly the dark auditorium around him disappeared to be replaced by the familiar white grid of the holodeck. "Program deleted," the calm voice of the computer informed him. Data glanced around him, eyes avoiding the crumpled piece of paper in front of him.

Behind him Geordi said, "I'm sorry, Data."

Data turned around, surprised. "I was unaware of your presence, Geordi."

Geordi scrutinized his friend closely, enhanced visual abilities attempting to discern Data's mood from his expression. Were those tears? Cautiously, he said, "You didn't ask me to leave. And sometimes, in situations like these…"

The android shrugged diffidently, movements stiff. "I am fine."

Geordi hesitated. "Are you sure? I thought you two had gotten kind of close during the trip."

"Perhaps," Data said, tone reticent. He sighed. "I should go feed Spot."

Nonplused at Data's peculiar reaction to Ambassador Trenata's note, Geordi said, "Well, I have to get back to Engineering." He paused again and threw a worried look at Data. "Are you _sure_ you don't need anything?"

"I am fine," Data reiterated mechanically.

"Well," said the engineer, unsure of how to handle Data's sudden withdrawal, "if you need anything, just call."

"Thank you, Geordi," said Data, still not meeting his friend's gaze.

Shaking his head slightly, Geordi turned and left the holodeck. _I never thought the day would come when I would_ want _Data to never feel emotion. But that…_ He shivered. _I wish he hadn't put himself through that._

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Data forced himself to pick up the rumpled note. Without smoothing its wrinkled surface or consciously letting his eyes fall on the piece of paper, he allowed himself to recall what _she_ had written.

_Dear Data, I'm so glad that you are unharmed. When we first received word that the_ Enterprise _had been destroyed by Corikh I feared the worst, knowing you were on board. I hope you will forgive me for not telling you this in person, but Ju-galrianmei has insisted that I not leave his side. My duties are many and time-consuming, and I must focus all my energies upon them. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed our time spent together, and will always treasure the music we created in each other's company. I do not think we will meet again, but I wish you luck in your future endeavors. With fondness, Trenata_

He ran through the message again, his positronic neural net capable of over a million repetitions in less than a minute. One phrase in particular rang through his thoughts.

_I do not think we will meet again._

Every time those words ran through his mind, he felt strange, unwelcome reactions shudder through his body. What was happening to him? What were these strange sensations that so threatened his equilibrium? He had no terms to properly describe the feelings that made him involuntarily clench his hands and tighten the muscles in his stomach cavity. He certainly couldn't logically rationalize his inability to discount the words he had committed to his memory. He wondered if these feelings were normal for humans. If so, how could they function adequately while experiencing them? The slight trembling in his hands shocked him as he leaned over to place his violin in its case.

Objectivity gripped him. Obviously these odd perturbations were interfering with his ability to perform his duties properly. Following that line of thought to its logical end, he decided that he must rid himself of his emotions. He had been enjoying the emotion chip so much recently that he had almost forgotten that he possessed the ability to turn it off.

The construction of the _Enterprise_-E had offered him some rare leisure time, and much of that time had gone towards the study of the emotion chip. Originally he had intended to remove it, but eventually he had ascertained that Dr. Soong had equipped the chip with the equivalent of an on/off switch. The correct amount of pressure in the correct spot would switch of his emotions like a broken circuit.

Quickly, before he changed his mind, he jerked his head and deactivated the emotion chip.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Puzzled, Data looked at the piece of paper in his hand and scrutinized it, remembering the anguish it had caused only moments before. Obviously something had to be done about this situation or he would never be able to reactivate the emotion chip. Despite his current lack of emotion, Data knew that he would be tempted to use the chip again, and logic dictated that those disturbing and debilitating emotions would resurface unless dealt with now in his current stable state.

Methodically he found and isolated every portion of his memory banks that involved any moment alone with Ambassador Trenata. A thorough search quickly gathered the requested information into an isolated section of his memory. Slowly he perused the collection, attempting to determine without the use of the chip what would cause negative emotions once it was reactivated. Unable to reach any definite conclusions, he shrugged slightly and decided to take no chances.

With a mental command, he deleted the memories entirely.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Puzzled, Data looked at the piece of paper in his hand and scrutinized it, attempting to recall why his fingers gripped it so tightly. Forcibly relaxing his hand, he read it again, struggling to determine what Ambassador Trenata had meant to convey. Opening his memory banks, he studied them carefully, endeavoring to locate anything to explain the strangely worded message. The Ambassadors appeared in some of his recollections, but they seemed mainly innocuous: meetings and formal occasions on the whole. He glanced at the note in his hand. The contents of it confused him. What privacy had they shared to necessitate such familiarity? Shoving the note indifferently into his violin case, Data quickly returned to his quarters and stowed the instrument carefully, then attended to Spot's needs while running several self-diagnostics in search of anomalies.

Abruptly his communicator beeped, announcing a message from Riker. "Data, report to the bridge immediately."

"Acknowledged, sir," Data said as he stood. Spot rubbed against his leg, obviously expecting something. Puzzled, Data glanced down at his pet. "Not now, Spot," he said reprovingly, then left his quarters.

Behind him Spot meowed questioningly before settling with feline intensity into a bath.


	24. Postlude

_They stand on the edge of forever, looking into the future and the past, remembering them as one._

_One is a woman, attired in starlight, and death's shadow. The other is a man, robed in scarlet and the blood of lives long past._

_The wind that cannot exist save at the edge of forever swirls around them, smoothing rough emotions and harsh words. At the end of the mobius strip they stand side by side._

_Finally the man (at least, that's how he thinks of himself) reaches out and takes her hand. The woman (an equally useless phrase to describe her, though she is more of flesh and blood than he) resists at first, then allows the contact._

_Time that no longer possesses any meaning holds them motionless for more moments._

_Finally, through there has been no waiting, the man speaks. "Shall we meet again?"_

_The woman turns and studies him. Not his exterior appearance – tall, lean, dark-haired, and possessed of a face that shows a past collusion with arrogance – but his eyes, in which she can see all the regrets, pain, and fury that what had happened must be so again. Smiling slightly, she indicates the stars that are ending their beginning (and beginning their ending) and murmurs, "Was there ever a doubt?"_

_His eyes flash in long dormant anger, then soften as she brings her other hand to brush his cheek. He releases his grip to place it on that hand, breathing in her aura and beauty. "Must it be as it was?"_

_Her eyes, glorious in the illumination that exists before photons, sadden. "Would love have come any other way?" His silence answers. She sighs, unaccustomed to the weight of emotions. As she glances away, she feels his arms rise to take her into his embrace._

"_We could change everything, you and I," he suggests, hope flickering deep in his eyes. "We could…"_

"_No." Her command stills him. "We shall love, and begin again."_

_Time rushes to meet them, carrying upon it a desire for revenge at their daring to avoid it for so long. Needing no words, their lips and minds meet, and love binds their beings together for one endless moment._

_Then time, proud to the last, surrenders._


End file.
